The Life and Times of Harry Bright
by TooMuchTuna
Summary: Harry Bright was studying in Paris when he met Donna Sheridan, who would turn his whole world upside down- not once but twice. It just takes twenty years for the other shoe to drop. Follows the story line of Mamma Mia! and Mamma Mia, Here We Go Again!, from Harry's point of view. Some inappropriate language. All our favorite characters will come into play as the story goes on!
1. Locked Out

"Oh, bugger."

The harsh sunlight streamed in through the dusty hotel window, landing directly in the face of the room's formerly-sleeping tenant. Ordinarily, Harry was an early riser and the sun serving as an alarm clock wouldn't have phased him. But on a Saturday, he had only hoped of sleeping in a bit longer. Mother Nature, however, would seem to have other plans.

Yawning, Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood up. It was his third week staying in the hotel, a temporary break between his semesters studying business at the Sorbonne. Personally, as it was summer, Harry had hoped to relax. Maybe he would have traveled a bit, seen the parts of France that he'd only read about in books. Perhaps he could have scraped together enough cash to take a trip over to the Americas and see his second-favorite band, the Ramones perform in New York City. Most of all, he would have liked to finally and try to put together a band to show off his skills on the guitar. He had once dreamed of joining his favorite band, the Sex Pistols, but they had broken up the previous year.

Harry hadn't thought through any of these plans in detail. He hadn't been given that chance. His father wouldn't allow such silly ideas.

"Don't forget why I'm paying for your education, Harry," he had said in their last phone call. "You're to come back here as soon as you have your master in economics and work at the bank. You have talent, but you want to waste your time acting like a punk."

Harry had begged, "Sir, my classes ended weeks ago. I don't have any reason to stay here! I can still study if I go to New York, and my flat rental doesn't start until Sept-"

"It won't do, Harry, it won't do," his father had interrupted. "I'm expecting you to run part of this company one day, and I won't have my bank falling into disarray once I'm gone because my son is a disgrace. It's a good thing your mother isn't alive to see what a disappointment you've become."

Harry had wanted to hang up the phone there and then. He could have slammed down the payphone and walked away, but he knew that the next morning, his father would have arranged for his express trip back to London for an early enlistment in the banking industry, with or without his damned master's degree.

"Yes, sir."

Harry's father had nagged him on for a few minutes before finally hanging up. David Bright had never been the loving or caring type, as far as his son was concerned. While it had been seemingly generous to pay for his son to live in Paris while he completed his degree, Harry knew his ulterior motive was just to get a better bank employee. Had there been an advantage to opening a branch in Botswana, Harry certainly would have found himself shipped off to live amongst the hyenas and giraffes. He wasn't a beloved member of the family, he was another asset that David Bright had to manage.

Harry continued preparing for the day, pulling off his pyjamas and pulling underwear out of his top drawer. Leaning over the sink, Harry splashed some cool water on his face. Glancing at the mirror, he was only reminded of the conversation with his father. It was a shame that he had to resemble his father: plain dark brown hair, trimmed neatly; the dull brown eyes; the strong jaw of an Englishman. His genetics had been coded to match his future- a boring old prick that worked in a bank.

 _Perhaps I was cursed from the start_ , he thought. His mother's boisterous spirit, meant for someone that matched her blonde-haired, blue-eyed exterior, was trapped inside someone that looked like the dull and lackluster David Bright.

He shook his head to try and focus on what kept him going. _Remember why you rebel. I hate the world, I hate my father, and I hate myself._

His growling stomach interrupted his negative thoughts, and Harry was reminded of one of the few positive things he had to look forward to that morning. Breakfast.

Walking towards his hotel room door, Harry picked up a robe to throw on. He was fairly certain he was the only person staying in his hall at the moment, but the fear of getting stuck outside his room in his underwear was too significant to ignore. Pulling back the heavy wooden door, Harry took a step into the hall looking for the breakfast tray.

It was placed a few feet further down the hall than it usually was, so Harry propped open the door with a shoe he had carelessly left near the entrance. Bending down to pick up the silver tray, Harry took in the scent of the chocolate croissant that had been left for him. It was definitely fresh- the melted chocolate was dripping out of the sides and mixing with the powdered sugar that had been placed as an accent. Accompanying the main treat was a cup of fruit and some warm coffee, which was enough to tide Harry over until he went to get lunch later in the day.

Harry was too tempted to wait an extra thirty seconds, and immediately dug in once he lifted the plate from the ground. He took a sip of the coffee, allowing the caffeine to run through his veins. Sighing in relief, Harry picked up the croissant and prepared to take his first bite as he turned around to return to his room.

Only, when he did so, he saw the door edging the shoe out of its position, preparing to slam shut. He shouted in panic, nearly dropping his breakfast, but he was too late. The resulting thud of the door closing echoed through the empty hallway. Balancing his tray in one arm, Harry pulled at the door's handle to no avail.

"Damn it!" Harry shouted, fruitlessly kicking the door and stubbing his toe. Wincing in pain, he resigned to sitting down and finishing his breakfast. This was an issue that needed to be solved, but it didn't need to be solved on an empty stomach.

 _At least I'm not stuck out here in my boxers,_ he thought to himself. _That's the only way this day could be worse._

The hotel's robe covered him well enough to maintain modesty. Sure, he had to keep his legs crossed while wearing it- clearly meant for a woman to wear, it stopped well before his knees. But for once, Harry was grateful he didn't have a woman in his life to share it with.

The rest of the chocolate croissant, the fruit cup, and his cup of coffee went quicker than he would have liked. Harry was certainly not looking forward to finding a member of the hotel staff this early on a Saturday morning, all while wearing a skimpy women's bathrobe. He gently laid the tray back on the ground and began to walk towards the narrow staircase that would lead him to the front desk.

With one hand holding together the front of his robe, and the other gripping the creaking railing, Harry hopped down the stairs, hoping to grab the attention of the middle-aged Frenchman that generally stood guard at the front desk.

"Pardon moi, monsieur...je….je need," Harry stammered out as he rounded the final few steps. The man he was expecting was not at the front desk. Instead, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen stood in his place.

 _Oh fuck, she's gorgeous,_ Harry thought, _and she's seeing me in a fucking bathrobe._

Self-consciously, Harry clenched the robe tightly, wishing he was fully dressed.

"Je regrette mademoiselle, ma porte est fermée et je...need to…entrer ma chambre. S'il vous plaît." Harry attempted to ask for a key to his room in French, but the woman said nothing in return.

 _I knew my French was bad, but I didn't think it was that bad,_ Harry thought to himself, beginning to panic.

Taking the last few steps down, Harry approached the desk. The woman was starting to giggle, and he couldn't blame her. He must look ridiculous.

"Mademoiselle, ma porte est fermée….when I...je...picked up the tray….pour déjeuner. I need a key pour entre ma chambre. S'il vous plaît." Harry smiled, and looked at the woman expectantly.

The woman brushed back her long, golden blonde hair and leant forward on the cash register.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," she replied.

Harry nodded apologetically and resumed speaking, "Okay, ma chambre est ferm- wait, hold on you-"

Harry stopped, finally letting the fact she had replied in English filter in. He looked at her with an expression of slight shock, and opened his mouth to speak again.

She interrupted him, whispering, "I don't work here," followed by a laugh. Harry took in the scene. An English-speaking woman... _an American,_ he thought, _a beautiful American woman_...was standing behind his hotel's cash register and didn't work there.

"I suppose I should….call the police, then," Harry replied, very confused at the turn of events. He reached for the phone, but she placed her hand on top of his.

"I'd prefer you didn't," she said, stepping out from behind the cash register.

Harry took a step back, giving her space to exit.

"I suppose they wouldn't understand my French anyways," he chuckled.

The pair stood in silence for a moment before she spoke up again.

"I'm Donna. Donna Sheridan."

Harry stood in silence for a moment, not sure how to continue. He wasn't in the habit of speaking to pretty girls, especially not ones that he met potentially robbing his hotel.

"And you are….?"

The woman was waiting. She broke out into a grin, her brilliant white smile only increasing Harry's anxiety. He brushed his left hand through his hair, unconsciously trying to neaten it. He thrust his right hand towards her, prepared for a handshake.

"Bright. Harry Bright."

Instead of offering a hand to shake, Donna covered her mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. Harry followed her eyes down, trying to figure out what she found so funny. With both his hands preoccupied, his bathrobe had fallen open, revealing his white briefs. Here he was, with a pretty girl, and all she knew so far is that he couldn't speak French, and he wore tighty-whities.

 _Fuck me,_ Harry thought.


	2. By the Eiffel Tower

Harry felt the blood rush to his cheeks and stepped back, trying to apologize to Donna for the extremely awkward situation.

He clenched the front of the robe together and crossed his legs underneath, ranting, "I'm sorry, I don't make a habit of walking around without clothes on, you've caught me at the worst possible time. I got locked out of my room, and I was eating breakfast, and I just turned around for a second, the chocolate croissant, and the next thing you know-"

Donna shook her head, still laughing. She turned around and started reaching across the desk and rifling through the box of keys.

"Well, which room is it then?"

Harry paused in his remorseful speech, confused why Donna was still here. She wasn't a hotel employee, and she certainly hadn't been staying here. He would have noticed. She also hadn't run away, despite the fact that a nearly-naked British lunatic was shouting at her about his breakfast. She was quite a woman to still be talking to him.

"Room 204, but if you don't work here you probably shouldn't be going through those keys."

Donna raised her eyebrows in a mock surprise, and reached for the key labeled 204. She held it out towards him.

"Well, it's either borrow the key or continue to stand here in your underwear. It's your choice, Harry."

Harry hesitated and reached out for the key, still holding his robe shut to prevent a repeat of the previous incidence.

"How do I know you won't report me for doing this?" He asked, slightly panicked.

"I think you'll find I'm easily persuaded by a good lunch. Although you did just eat breakfast, didn't you say? Although, I'd hate for you to get arrested for grand theft keyring. You may want to just hide away."

Harry sheepishly grinned. He backed up towards the stairs and began taking the first few steps.

"I suppose I could eat again. Even if it is my last meal," Harry joked. "Just give me a minute, I promise I'll wear clothes when I come down again."

Donna laughed again, and Harry could see a bright twinkle in her eye as she did so.

"I guess you'd better hurry up. A girl can only wait so long when she's just arrived in the city."

Harry raced back to his hotel room at a speed he didn't know he was capable of and unlocked the door with his key. He could hardly believe it, but he was fairly positive he'd just been asked out by a girl for the first time. And he'd already massively screwed up. It was sure to be an interesting day.

 _Alright, I need pants, I need pants,_ Harry thought, grabbing a pair of blue jeans from his chest of drawers. He threw on a Johnny Rotten T-Shirt and looked for his old leather jacket to match. _It's a bit small, but if I'm going on a date, I need to look somewhat cool._

Slipping on his shoes, Harry stopped in front of the mirror to look at himself once more. _Slightly less like a banker,_ Harry thought, _Should I wear it?_

He then asked himself the question he asked every time he got dressed in the morning. _Would my father hate it? Yes._

He ran his fingers through his hair, teasing it slightly to make it look neat, but not too neat- that would make it seem like he was trying to hard.

 _What am I doing? She told me to hurry! She might already be gone!_

Harry grabbed his room key, as well as the borrowed spare, and shoved them in his pocket. Pacing around the room, he managed to find his wallet and promptly turned out the door, ready to return downstairs.

He must have taken the steps two at a time, possibly three, and he practically fell down the last set in his pursuit to get lunch.

"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, Donna Sheridan!" Harry stopped at the bottom of the staircase and saw Donna sitting on top of the desk, watching him. He finally took a moment to observe the woman he had agreed to go to lunch with, mostly out of the terrible awkwardness of him catching her potentially robbing a hotel, and her seeing him in his underwear. These weren't the typical situations that resulted in a date. But now, he wouldn't complain, because he don't think he would have ever worked up the courage to ask Donna out if he hadn't been asked first. She was wearing a long-sleeve, button-up dress that was decorated with all different bright colors. He had noticed how beautiful she was, but he hadn't noticed the smirk she constantly wore, or how she tilted her head ever so slightly, almost egging him on to go on an adventure. She was like a goddess, but he couldn't tell of what- intelligence? Mischief? Love? He needed to find out.

"I think the wait was well worth it, Harry Bright."

The pair exited the hotel on to the busy sidewalk together. Harry wasn't sure where he was supposed to be taking Donna, but figured walking towards the tourist-filled downtown area would be good, given that she had mentioned she was new to the city.

"So, what were you doing in the hotel?"

"I got off the train this morning, figured I'd find a place to stay. I was just as confused about the lack of staff as you were."

Harry nodded, accepting that she wasn't trying to rob the hotel, and he had just had an overactive imagination.

"A train? How'd you take a train for the States? At least, I assume that's where you're from."

Donna playfully elbowed him, bumping him slightly off the sidewalk. He laughed, and continued on. Internally, he was panicking over what this could mean.

"I'm originally from the US, but I've been studying at New College in London for the past few years. I actually just graduated. That's where I got on the train."

"You're joking! I'm from there!"

"Really? With your accent, I couldn't tell!" Donna laughed, and Harry quickly corrected himself.

"What I mean to say, is I'm originally from London. I completed my studies at Oxford, I'm at the Sorbonne now."

Donna didn't respond immediately, and Harry resumed his regular silence. She seemed to be following him, even though he wasn't sure where he was going. He made a second attempt at conversation.

"Would you like to eat anywhere? I've been staying here for a while, and I could recommend a few good brunch locations," he ventured.

Donna shifted the duffel bag she was carrying to the shoulder closest to Harry and nodded in his direction.

"If you've been staying here for a while, you sound like an excellent tour guide. Maybe you could take me to see a few sights first?"

 _This day just got a whole lot better_ , Harry internally smirked. At least, he thought it was internally.

"What's so funny?" Donna asked.

"What? Oh, nothing. I'd love to take you around!" Harry kicked himself for acting like an idiot. He hadn't been on a date in ages, likely nothing since that terrible double date in undergrad. It hadn't been his fault that Carol didn't think his choker and mullet were "romantic." He thought he had looked quite good, actually.

Donna uncomfortably shifted her bag again, as they crossed a boulevard towards the Eiffel Tower.

"Would you mind if I took your bag?"

Revealing that famous smirk once more, Donna questioned Harry's motives.

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Well, to be a gentleman, of course. And-" Harry hesitated, realizing he was about to put his foot in his mouth again.

"And what?"

Embarrassed, Harry muttered, "And it would leave your hand hanging free between us. Which would allow our hands to accidentally brush, and that means I could nonchalantly, very casually, take your hand into mine at some point while we were walking."

Donna stopped walking and looked at Harry.

"Or you could just ask to hold my hand, Harry."

He looked at her like a deer stuck in headlights and shrugged.

"Then can I hold your hand?"

"Absolutely."

Harry stood up straight, lifted his head, and held out his hand. Unexpectedly, a heavy weight fell in his hand and he nearly lost his balance.

"But you did ask to hold my bag first," Donna giggled.

Harry grinned, swung the bag onto his opposite shoulder, and took Donna's hand. While he initially fretted about whether his hand was too sweaty, or if she thought his hands were too soft for a man, Harry and Donna soon fell into a comfortable conversation. They traded stories back and forth- Harry, recognizing all the locations she discussed in London, found that she had adventured more in his home city in mere years than he had done in a lifetime.

"I wish I could seek adventure as well as you, Donna. I'm afraid living in Paris is my biggest adventure to date, and I didn't even choose to go on it."

They walked along the Seine River, pausing in front of the Eiffel Tower to sit and admire the magnificent structure.

"Harry, you shouldn't seek out adventures. You just need to be spontaneous enough to make memories. You'll find your adventures along the way."

Harry nodded, accepting her answer. Donna leaned towards him, resting her head on his shoulder. He felt his body stiffen at first, unsure of what to do next. But, Donna didn't even seem to notice how close they were, and he soon relaxed. They continued talking of any subject that came to mind, from politics to philosophy to even the Sex Pistols. Harry couldn't believe how comfortable he felt talking to her. Gone was his anxiety and hesitation. In its place was….something new. Something he hadn't felt before.

"So, Harry, ready for that lunch you promised me? I'm starting to get a bit hungry."

Donna lifted herself off the grass, and Harry felt a bit of loss when she pulled away. Widening his eyes, he looked up at her innocently.

"I don't recall promising you lunch, I quite remember it the other way around."

Donna offered her hand, and he eagerly grabbed it and allowed himself to be pulled up.

"Au contraire, monsieur Harry. I'm still deciding whether to call the police on you for key theft, and you have yet to fully establish yourself in my good graces."

"Well, I suppose if the morning we have spent together has not done it, it will take me quite some time to do so. Where are you staying in Paris?"

Donna shrugged and replied, "I'm leaving tomorrow, so I'll likely just get a hotel room for the night."

He took her hand and they began walking towards a few crowded cafés in the distance.

 _She's leaving tomorrow,_ he worried. _She's going to leave._

Harry resolved himself, and said, "I believe you could just stay with me."

"Oh, dream on, Harry! Spend the night with a stranger I only met this morning?"

He squeezed her hand tightly and looked at Donna with great earnest.

"Donna, when I talk to you, I don't feel like we've ever been strangers. I feel like you've always been around, I just hadn't met you yet."

Swinging her arm back and forth, Donna began pulling Harry towards the Waterloo Café. Harry paled slightly, seeing how tacky and touristy the establishment looked.

"To consider your proposition, I think I'll need to eat first. Never make decisions on an empty stomach."

"Donna, I appreciate your enthusiasm for eating, but I'd be happier to take you somewhere a bit nicer-"

"Harry, I'm only in Paris for a day. I need the full experience."

 _There's no good reason to say no,_ Harry thought. He began putting together his argument, as a waiter dressed as the great French emperor himself led the couple to their table. _What do I have to lose?_


	3. Waterloo

Harry balanced the menu on the table in front of him and leaned back slightly, enough to kick the front two legs of the chair off of the floor. His eyes flitted between reading the menu, which offered every stereotypical French dish that a tourist would expect, and the goddess sitting across from him. However, his mind didn't absorb anything he was seeing, as he was far too focused on how he had potentially ruined the best date of his life.

 _You don't just ask a girl on the first date if she wants to have sex with you,_ Harry panicked. _She probably thinks I'm a pervert._

He felt fully confident that Donna was simply being too polite to leave, and was merely waiting for him to look away. The moment he did, she would surely run for her life.

"I don't know about you, but I'm dying for croissants," Donna interrupted the silence that had fallen between them.

"I'll split one with you," Harry said eagerly. "I don't want you missing out on other French delicacies, since you'll only be getting a couple meals here."

"Well, if we split a croissant, what would you recommend I get?"

Harry had been staring at the menu for several minutes. He had been living in a Parisian hotel for nearly a month, and had been staying in the city practically the entire year before. He had frequented dozens of French restaurants, cafés, and stands during his father's business trips while he was growing up. Even beyond that litany of attendance, good French cuisine was commonplace in London, and had always been a particular favorite of Harry's. But in this moment, with Donna asking possibly the simplest question he could answer, Harry felt like he had never heard of the country of France, let alone what food they might serve. His mind was blank.

 _Think of something, you idiot!_ Harry began thinking of any French word he could, hoping one would be a food. _Maison. Bourgeois. Cologne. Bon voyage. Fromage. Fromage!_

"Um….I would recommend the….fromage! Get the fromage!"

"Doesn't that just mean cheese?"

Harry knew that's exactly what fromage meant. But he didn't want to mess up this date again.

"Well, yes. But I mean that you should get something with cheese while you're here. France is very famous for it you know."

Donna smiled at him again. Harry couldn't tell whether she was mocking him, believed him, or if she thought all his nervous energy was cute. He hoped it was the last one, but he wasn't going to be taking any bets, especially when he had such a reliable habit of making a fool of himself.

"Why don't we order a cheese platter, a few croissants, and a chocolate soufflé?"

Harry glanced around the café to see what lay on other tables. It wasn't an absurd assortment- the couple to the left of them was taking an extremely late breakfast, and another nearby was dining on exclusively desserts.

"I'll accept it. But please, let me get some wine."

Donna nodded slightly, and replied, "That'll have to do."

The waiter returned, and Harry felt like he butchered the order in French, but seemed to get enough of the message across.

"Now, I think your jacket would be greatly improved by some of those golden epaulets, don't you think so, Harry?"

He laughed, but not in the friendly, casual way he had intended. It sounded forced and terribly awkward. His cheeks flushed, shifting from pink to red.

"Sorry, I just...sure, I think they'd look great."

Harry looked away, down at the floor, letting his elbows rest on the table. Donna shook her head playfully. She put a hand on his arm and Harry immediately straightened up and returned to looking at her.

"What's with all the frigid politeness, Harry? I thought you said when we talked, you didn't feel like you were talking to a stranger," she teased.

"I'm not sure if I put you in an uncomfortable position earlier with my….proposition."

 _Honesty is the best policy, right?_ Harry thought silently to himself, as Donna hesitated to reply. _Oh, who's the fucking bloke that came up with that? Did it just so that an eternity later some idiot like me would follow it and lose his chance with the most beautiful girl in the world-_

Harry's internal monologue was interrupted as Donna gave a slight smile and absentmindedly patted his arm.

"Harry, I just didn't think you were serious. You shouldn't get yourself all worked up over something you said spontaneously."

Harry caught a spark in Donna's eyes that he knew meant that she was teasing him, most cruelly.

"You're mistaken, I didn't get to present my entire case."

"Well, then proceed, Mr. Bright."

"You'd be doing me a favor by spending the night with me."

"How so?"

"Well, I would be able to get my first time out of the way and proceed through life a more confident man."

Donna, who had been taking a sip of her wine, practically spit it back into the glass from laughing. Harry pulled his arm away from Donna and nearly fell out of his chair.

"Surely, Harry, you can't be serious."

"Ha, no, that's just something I say to look cool," Harry gestured blankly into the air, shrugging as he watched for Donna's reaction. She sat staring at him, clearly expecting him to continue. "No, no, I'm not joking."

Harry, upon confessing his virginity to Donna, was reaching a new level of embarrassment for the day that had started with finding himself nearly naked and now only seemed to get worse. Donna waited a moment before continuing their conversation.

"Harry, we only just met," Donna said gently, crossing her hands on the table. "Today."

Harry shook his head, trying to figure out how he could convince her that she meant so much to him, even if they'd only known each other a short while.

 _I'm not looking for a one night stand,_ Harry thought, _I'm...I'm in love with her!_

"Yes, but, when you know, you know," Harry looked around the room, searching for a way of expressing his devotion. "When you fall, you fall."

Before Donna had a chance to respond, Harry spotted his target and rose from the table, crossing over to Donna's side. He offered his hand and pulled her up, ready to dance.

"And when you're defeated by love, you are utterly defeated."

Harry wasn't the best dancer, but he pulled Donna out to the center of the café, where they began trying to keep up with the jazzy upbeat song the pianist was playing. Donna laughed, but stepped in time with him.

"Donna, when Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo, he gave up the fight when he knew he had lost. Talking to you...I want to give up the fight. You've won the war."

She pulled him in a bit closer, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Harry, I'm touched that you thought I'd enjoy dancing, but I'm not sure-"

"Donna, please, allow me to tell you how ardently I feel about you. You are my Waterloo- I am willingly giving up to you, because I know my fate, my destiny, is to be with you."

Donna didn't speak for the remainder of the song, but instead picked up the pace of their dancing. She was a natural, and Harry stopped noticing the other guests in the room staring at them, or even the other couples who had followed their lead and taken to dancing in the center of the room. Soon, Donna was leading their dance, and he merely responded to her initiative. If she stepped a bit further away, he began to twirl her; if she came in close, he would lift her and spin. It was an amazing feeling, knowing how well they worked together. He truly felt that he could be with this woman every day for the rest of his life- their connection was immediate and inspiring.

As the song winded down, several guests applauded the dancers. Harry breathlessly turned to Donna, who was a bit flushed by the dancing they had just performed. Before either could speak, Harry felt a tap on his shoulder. It was the waiter, who gestured towards their table.

"Monsieur et mademoiselle, vos demandes sont servies."

They walked towards their table to find the cheese platter, the croissants, and the chocolate soufflé waiting for them. Dismissing the waiter, Harry pulled out the seat for Donna to sit. Before sitting, she raised her chin towards Harry and kissed him. It was just a quick peck, but Harry felt as though he'd been struck by lightning. As soon as he had gathered enough wits to look at her, Donna had already sat down in her chair, and pulled in to the table. Harry confusedly wandered over to his side, took his chair, and faced her.

"So, is that a yes then?" He giggled, unsure of what to do next.

"I've certainly decided I won't be calling the police on you, if that's what you mean."

The pair laughed, and began eating their meal, stopping between bites to continue conversation. Harry was glad to have returned to the easy back-and-forth between them, and felt his affection only grow stronger throughout the meal.


	4. Ten Quid and My Johnny Rotten Tee-Shirt

Harry Bright was not one for radical action, as much as his fondness for punk rock might have suggested otherwise. But since just before seven that morning to half past two when they left the Waterloo, Harry had felt like his whole world was turning upside down.

He glanced to his side, admiring Donna's amazement at the city. She forced him to accept a more positive perspective of life- there weren't hordes of tourists in her eyes, instead it was thousands of travelers seeking adventures that she too longed to experience.

Together, they ducked through the jam of tourists along the Seine, and wandered into a quaint secondhand shop. A bit off the beaten path, the store had few visitors, and Harry felt out of place. Donna seemed like she was in just the right place, scattered among treasures that were yet to be discovered.

"Well, this is quite a find." Harry lifted an acoustic guitar from behind a mahogany chest of drawers. The guitar had a few worn stickers on it, and specks of paint on the back, but the strings had been recently replaced. Even though the instrument was dusty, it had clearly been well-cared for by its previous owner.

"Do you play the guitar, Harry?" Donna ran her fingers along the strings, plucking them lightly. The sound reverberated through the air, soft and delicate.

"I've left my guitar in London. I once fancied myself quite the rock star, you know. Seeing my name up in lights was all I ever dreamed of," Harry muttered, reminiscing over his lost hopes.

"Harry Bright, for one night, and one night only!" Donna framed his name as if she could see the billboard in front of her.

Harry shook his head violently, "Oh no, who would go see a rock show with the lead singer named something as bland as 'Harry Bright'?"

"Well, I do believe the name 'Johnny Rotten' is already taken," Donna teased, poking at his Sex Pistols shirt. "So you'll have to come up with something else."

"Oh, trust me, I've already come up with something else. Not that I'll ever have use for it. I set those aspirations aside once I ended up on the path of corporate banking."

Harry shrugged and began putting the guitar back against the wall. Donna stopped him, taking the guitar and placing the strap around Harry's neck. He began to resist, but let her position the guitar in his arms.

"You're not getting off that easy, Harry. At least tell me the name of Britain's greatest musical star of the 20th century, even if he never performs in front of thousands."

"Oh, I shouldn't say," Harry ran his hand through his hair, growing slightly more embarrassed. "I came up with the name years ago, in year seven or eight. You'll just laugh at me."

"I promise, I won't. Although, if you don't tell me, I might have to guess, in which case, I'd say some names that would surely be worth laughing at."

"Alright, it's….Harry...Headbanger."

Feeling a bit ridiculous, Harry weakly lifted his left arm, and punched his fist into the air, banging his head back and forth in rhythm to an imaginary beat. Donna stopped in place for a moment, and twisted towards Harry. Her mouth was captured in mid-laugh, and Harry couldn't stand the suspense.

"Look, I know it's ridiculous-"

"No, no, no," Donna interrupted, "it's fantastic. I'm sorry, but I'm really going to have to hear you sing. Right now."

"No, no," Harry began refusing, but Donna's angelic laugh interrupted him as she wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him closer to her.

Harry could feel his resistance wearing. Refusing someone with enthusiasm like Donna's was a difficult task, and it certainly wasn't helped by how much he was already enamored with her.

"Why don't you buy the guitar? If you've left yours in London, you'll need one in Paris."

Donna pushed him towards the cash register, where the attendant, who wasn't more than a few years older than Harry, looked up, clearly bored. Harry opened his mouth to protest his somewhat-forced purchase, but Donna spoke on his behalf more quickly than he could come up with an opposing statement.

"Good afternoon, monsieur. We would like to purchase this guitar."

The attendant raised his eyebrows in exhaustion with his customers.

"Je regrette, madame, je ne comprends pas. Est-ce que vous parlez le français?"

Donna looked expectantly at Harry. He furrowed his brow and put on a slight pout, but knew that disappointing her would be more of a travesty than spending his spare money on the guitar. It had not gone unnoticed by Harry that the cashier had used the more formal "madame" in addressing Donna, likely assuming that she was with Harry, and maybe even assumed that they were married.

 _Wouldn't that be wonderful,_ Harry thought. He decided that regardless of how he might botch up this purchase, it was worth making a fool of himself if it made Donna smile for even a moment.

"Bonjour, monsieur. Je...voudrais….acheter cette guitare. Combien coûte la guitare?" Harry ventured. Unlike with breakfast dishes and locked doors, his French was more finely tuned towards financial and business conversations. Yet another thing to thank his father for, he supposed.

"Combien avez-vous?"

Harry understood enough to realize the cashier was trying to barter with him. He pulled out his wallet, and checked the amount he had remaining after paying at the Waterloo. It was less than he had expected, and none of it was in francs.

"J'ai dix quid. Est-ce suffisant?" Ten quid was hardly enough to buy strings for a guitar, let alone buy the entire instrument. He was kicking himself for not stopping at the bank the previous evening. Then again, he hadn't been expecting a surprise romance would occupy his entire schedule for the next day.

"C'est tout ce que vous avez? Pas de francs?" The cashier chided Harry for his lack of French currency, and Harry began trying to think of ways he could convince the cashier to make the exchange.

 _Could I actually barter my arm and my leg?_ Harry joked to himself. At least, he was fairly positive he was joking. He definitely wasn't considering trading his arm and his leg for a used guitar. Glancing nervously at Donna, he thought, _Alright, maybe I should offer that._

"Harry, is everything alright? I think I might have some cash in my duffel bag, let me check."

Donna's interruption in the exchange had the cashier give an amused look at Harry. Feeling judged, Harry held Donna's duffel bag further away from her.

"No, Donna, it's fine, I'll….I'll figure it out. It's a promise."

"Pardon, monsieur," the cashier grabbed Harry's attention again. "Je vais prendre votre dix quid."

Harry's face lit up with a grin. He immediately began thanking the cashier profusely, and pulled the ten quid out of his wallet and placed it on the counter.

"Et votre tee-shirt," the cashier added.

Harry laid down his final coin and looked up, slightly confused.

"Mon tee-shirt?" Harry questioned. _What the bloody hell does he want with my shirt?_

"Oui. J'aime ce tee-shirt."

Harry looked down at the shirt he was wearing. It was a Sex Pistols shirt, referencing their classic song, and his father's least favorite song, "God Save the Queen." Harry often viewed the shirt as the most badass thing in his clothing ensemble.

 _What's he expect me to do, strip half naked in the center of the city?_

"J'ai ce tee-shirt pour….modesty."

The cashier pulled a gaudy paisley collared shirt out of a nearby bin. He held it up as though he were offering Harry a grand gift, but his mocking intentions were evident. The shirt had once been a bold blue and white, with a floral pattern, but the years and an infinite number of washes had turned it to a pale blue and slight yellow.

"Vous donnerez pas le tee-shirt de votre dos pour une belle femme?"

Harry wasn't fluent in the language, but he knew enough about context clues to figure out the biting commentary the cashier was delivering. He was grateful Donna didn't speak the language, otherwise his humiliation may have been complete.

He pulled the guitar off and handed it to Donna, who had been silent for a majority of the conversation. She took a step back, unsure of what to do. Harry considered the man's question, of whether he would be willing to give the shirt off his back for a beautiful woman. With another look at Donna, Harry pulled off his leather jacket and handed it to Donna as well.

"Alright. Oui, mon tee-shirt." Harry agreed to the exchange. Donna was worth wearing that hideous paisley shirt for.

As he pulled off his shirt, he suddenly became very aware that Donna hadn't been privy to the agreement. Perhaps she had picked up that he was trading his shirt for the guitar, but it was just as likely she hadn't. And now, Harry was going to strip in front of her and the cashier, seemingly unprompted.

"Donna, I'll just trade this real quick and put on the other shirt. I'll meet you outside, alright?" Harry sputtered out, as quickly as his tongue would allow him. His shirt was pulled halfway over his head, blocking his vision from seeing a giggling Donna waltz out the front door of the store with the guitar and his jacket.

Harry gave one final look at his Sex Pistols shirt- the purchase of which had been one of his most flagrant acts of rebellion against his father- folded it, and placed it on the counter next to his money. He begrudgingly accepted the paisley shirt from the cashier and buttoned it up.

"Thank you very much, sir," the cashier collected the payment and began taking a note in the record book next to the register.

Harry began to shrug off the comment before starting upright.

"Hang on, you speak English then! Why'd you insist on French?"

"We are in Paris, we speak French here," the cashier looked exasperated with Harry. However, he gave a slight smile. "Mais, je pensais vous avez besoin d'un coup de main. I thought you could use a hand impressing her."

Harry let himself smile in response, and said a final thanks before leaving the store.

"Merci, monsieur."

Donna met him as he stepped through the door.

"So what was that all about then?"

"I was a bit short on cash, and I guess the cashier was a fan of the Sex Pistols. Just my lucky day, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, Harry, you didn't have to do that."

Harry grinned in response. Wrapping his arm around Donna's shoulder, he pulled her close and grabbed the guitar with his other hand.

"What can I say? Harry Headbanger does what he wants."

She laughed and pulled him back towards the grass in front of the Eiffel Tower.

"Let's see what you've got, Harry Headbanger."


	5. An Afternoon to Remember

With his back against the trunk of a tree, the Eiffel Tower glittering in front of him, and Donna lying down by his side, Harry felt like he was truly in paradise.

Crossing his legs Turkish style, Harry balanced the guitar across his lap. His fingers strummed the strings of the guitar, riffing a few melodies from his favorite punk songs.

"Does the lady have any requests?"

Donna smiled and placed her hand on his knee, rubbing it gently. Harry relaxed under her touch, letting his head drop a bit to the side to look longingly down at her.

"I enjoy rock enough….but why don't you play a ballad? I think they sound so beautiful."

Harry wracked his brain for a song to perform for her. It needed to be somewhat romantic, but not a love song- he was still trying to play it cool. At the same time, he didn't know many songs besides punk rock, which were very difficult to play as a ballad. Finally, he found a solution.

"I know a song...my mother used to sing to me. I haven't played it in several years now, but I think I remember all the chords."

Clearing his throat, Harry gave a quick cough and took a deep breath. The guitar shifted slightly as he fiddled with the tuning. Nervously, Harry began his song, fully relating to every word.

" _I'm nothing special….in fact I'm a bit of a bore._

 _If I tell a joke, you've probably heard it before."_

Harry's voice was soft and low, carefully playing out every note and not taking any vocal risks. However, its depth brought Donna's rapt attention, as she propped her head up on one arm, still keeping her opposite hand resting on Harry's knee.

" _But I have a talent, a wonderful thing,_

 _Cause everyone listens when I start to sing,_

 _I'm so grateful and proud._

 _All I want is to sing it out loud._

 _So I say,_

 _Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing."_

Harry closed his eyes, falling back on memories of his mother singing the same song as she ran errands, or walked around the house. He recalled how she even sang it when she fell sick.

" _Thanks for all the joy they're bringing._

 _Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty,_

 _What would life be?_

 _Without a song or a dance, what are we?_

 _So, I say, thank you for the music,_

 _For giving it to me."_

Opening his eyes, Harry continued strumming the guitar and looked down at Donna. She nodded encouragingly, entranced by Harry's smooth and gentle singing.

" _Mother says I was a dancer before I could walk._

 _She says I began to sing long before I could talk._

 _But I've often wondered, how did it all start?_

 _Who found out that nothing can capture a heart_

 _Like a melody can?"_

Harry began stretching his vocals, holding out longer phrases and sitting up straighter, his chest puffed out. Donna shifted to kneeling next to Harry, rocking slightly to the beat of the song.

" _Well, whoever it was, I'm a fan,_

 _So I say…"_

Donna parted her lips and took a breath in, preparing to join in on the chorus with Harry.

" _Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing._

 _Thanks for all the joy they're bringing._

 _Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty,_

 _What would life be?_

 _Without a song or a dance what are we?_

 _So I say thank you for the music_

 _For giving it to me."_

Donna's higher, sweeter, and bolder voice melded with Harry's and he felt as though an angel was sitting in front of him. As he finished the last few notes, he looked into Donna's eyes with great care and blushed as he gave a gentle smile.

Initially, neither spoke. Harry continued strumming the guitar, and Donna rested her head against Harry's shoulder. After she pulled away several minutes later, Donna looked at Harry and interrupted their silence.

"That was beautiful, Harry. You're a wonderful singer."

Harry pushed off the compliment, replying, "My abilities compare in comparison to yours. I don't think that chorus has ever sounded better than when you sang it. Why didn't you tell me you were a musician?"

"Well, I'm not a professional. I'm just in a group with my girls, Donna and the Dynamos."

"That sounds like a professional to me."

"You know, Mr. Headbanger, you seem very insistent on complimenting others that you fail to accept the compliments offered to you."

Harry shrugged and turned himself so he was facing Donna.

"I don't think I fully embraced the true character of Harry Headbanger in that performance."

"In what way?"

"Well, firstly, Harry Headbanger sings exclusively rock. It's only Harry Bright that would sing a ballad like that."

"You're wrong, but continue."

"And secondly," Harry paused playing the guitar to stand up and looked down at Donna, "Harry Headbanger would end a performance like this."

Harry lifted the guitar above his head and teasingly began swinging it down as if he was going to smash it on the ground. Donna squealed in laughter and reached her arms to stop him. His motion ended at waist level, and he pulled the guitar back around his neck, as if pondering his decision.

"Maybe it's best that Harry Headbanger doesn't end his performance with destroying the guitar he's owned for less than an hour."

"Certainly wouldn't want that Johnny Rotten tee-shirt to be sacrificed needlessly," Donna added.

Harry laughed, and returned to sitting next to Donna. Together they sang different elements of songs they knew, her introducing him to some of her original work with the Dynamos, and him incorporating his favorite punk rock songs, albeit acoustic. Harry's heart warmed at the thought of connecting with someone else so intimately over a passion he himself kept hidden from the world.

He was certainly thankful for the music.

Eventually, Donna mentioned she was starting to get hungry and Harry glanced at his watch. It had been several hours since they'd last eaten, and his own stomach was on the verge of growling. He stood, offering a hand to Donna to pull her off the ground. Angling the guitar to be strapped to his back, Harry put his arm around Donna's shoulders as they strolled towards the road.

"Would you like some crêpes?" Harry asked, gesturing to a street food crêpe stand on the next corner.

Donna nodded urgently, and they walked over. Harry ordered a sweet crêpe, with a lemon sugar cream, and Donna chose a crêpe stuffed with chocolate and strawberries. Donna pulled a small pouch out of her duffel bag and handed several francs to the seller.

"You don't have to do that Donna, I'll pay."

Harry reached for his wallet, but Donna handed him the crêpes instead, issuing a warning but playful glance.

"I don't think the paisley shirt will go for as much as you think it will."

Harry looked down and remembered that he had spent all of his cash, as well as spent the shirt off his back.

"Well, I keep some change in my hotel room, so I'll be sure to pay you back later."

 _Did I just insinuate she was returning to my room? Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me-_ Harry glanced at Donna, but she didn't seem to notice his slip. Instead, she had wrapped her arm around his elbow and was pulling him towards a bench to sit down.

Donna immediately reached for the lemon crêpe, and Harry let out an expression of feigned shock.

"Why, I believe that is my crêpe you are trying to steal."

"We aren't sharing?" Donna asked coyly, tearing a piece away from his crêpe, "After all, I thought it was only practical."

Harry beamed at her and grabbed a strawberry off of her crêpe. Lifting it to his mouth, he nodded.

"You're absolutely right."

Harry and Donna continued to banter, pulling pieces off the crêpes and comparing the sweet lemon to the even sweeter chocolate and strawberry. While both were delicious, they agreed that they went far too quickly. Donna grabbed their wrappers and threw them in a nearby disposal bin, and Harry rose to join her.

"Shall we?" Harry offered his arm, and Donna interlocked their elbows before allowing her head to rest on their shoulder.

 _Am I falling in love with her,_ Harry thought, _or am I already in free-fall?_

For every second she was in his arms, the latter seemed to turn into reality. Harry allowed Donna to lead the way, and felt himself pulled along as if she was simply a current in a river and he was just along for the ride.

"Harry, did you hear about the Frenchman who jumped in the river?"

"What? No!"

"They declared him in-Seine!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the terrible joke. However, making bad jokes was one of his few strengths, and he wasn't about to be beaten by an American of all people.

"Alright, Donna, alright. What's in the middle of Paris?"

"I'm not sure, what?"

"An r!"

Donna rolled her eyes, replying, "Surely, you can do better than that."

"Very well, why do the French only use one egg in their omelettes?"

"I have absolutely no idea. Enlighten me on the subject."

"Because one egg is un oeuf!"

Donna's mouth dropped open as she turned to Harry mid-laugh.

"I'll give it to you, that was a good one."

Harry was ready to deliver another joke when Donna interrupted him, pointing up to the Parisian skyline.

"Harry, is that the Notre Dame?"

"Huh? Oh, yes, I believe so. Are you a fan of churches, Donna?"

"Me, the mother-designated devil worshipper? Absolutely, I'm the virtuous little Catholic girl that my mother raised."

Her sarcasm was emphasized by an exaggerated wink she shot in Harry's direction.

"Devil worshipper? What happened to you Americans after we let you go free? Worst decision ol' George III could have made, we knew you couldn't handle independence before going mad."

Donna pulled away from him, and he quickly regretted his words. She put her hands on her hips and jutted her chin up defiantly.

"How dare you insult my country, you tea-drinking, custard-eating, aristocratic codger!"

Harry feigned an offended shock before retorting.

"I can't help it, you gun-totin', burger-eating, red-white-and-blue nutter!"

"Well at least my country doesn't pay millions to a royal family that hasn't done anything in centuries!"

"At least my country doesn't waste perfectly good tea throwing it into a harbor because you don't like taxes!"

"At least my country has decent entertainment and music compared to _other_ people's countries!"

"At least your country just imports the Beatles and calls it a day!"

He could barely get through his sentence without breaking out into laughter, and Donna soon followed. Wiping his eyes clear, Harry tried to return to their previous topic.

"So, why are you a devil-worshipper? You never said."

Donna shrugged and blew off the question, "Anyone who disagrees with my mother disagrees with the will of the Lord, hence the devil-worshipper designation. I was supposed to go home after graduating from Oxford, but how could I do that when there's this great big world to be explored?"

"She just let you leave after graduation?" Harry expressed in surprise.

"To stop me, she would have had to show up."

Harry tried to apologize for his insensitivity on the subject, but Donna stopped him.

"I stopped caring what my mother thought of me a long time ago, Harry. We all have parents, some people's are just a bit worse than others."

Harry replied, "I understand your meaning exactly. I don't think my father would call me a devil worshipper, but disappointment, now that's a popular expression of affection I hear."

Harry wrapped his arm back around her shoulder and they continued walking.

"If he's so terrible, why don't you just leave? Be spontaneous, and go discover yourself in this big, beautiful world."

Harry shook his head.

"No, I'm afraid I don't have what it takes to be spontaneous. Rebellion, now that's something that Brits and Americans share," Harry joked. "I just tell myself every morning that a little rebellion is enough to keep me going. I hate the world, I hate father, and I hate myself. Do what I'm told, but do it in my own self-loathing way."

Harry laughed off the statement, but Donna turned serious for a moment.

"Don't say that, Harry."

"Don't say what?"

She shook her head, and placed a hand on Harry's cheek. He softened under her touch and looked deep into her now-sorrowful blue eyes. There wasn't a sense of pity in them, but instead a slight worry.

"Your mantra. It's very silly."

"And why would you say that?"

"You shouldn't hate the world, because it has so much to offer. You shouldn't hate your father, because you're going to learn from his mistakes and be a better man than he will ever be."

Harry tilted his head against her hand, looking questioningly down at her. She pulled him closer and whispered as if he was the only other person in the world.

"And most of all, Harry, you should never hate yourself. I….I think you are one of the sweetest and most understanding people in the entire world, and I would feel terrible even imagining that anybody disliked you, let alone yourself. Promise me you'll stop saying that."

Harry gave a slight smile in response, "I promise."

It felt nice for Harry to be cared about, especially by someone as wonderful as Donna. She gave him a sweet smile, and Harry wasn't sure whether she went up on her toes to reach him or whether he bent down. All he knew was that a split second after he had promised to care more about himself, he and Donna were kissing. Not just a peck on the lips like it had been at the restaurant, but true, proper snogging.

His arms were wrapped around her waist, and her hands held his head in place in their intimate embrace. Harry wasn't sure how long it lasted, but he knew that this was undoubtedly the best moment in his entire life.

When Donna pulled away, it felt like his world was ending. Harry began to protest when he realized Donna was laughing.

"Am I really that bad a kisser?" Harry asked, half-joking and half-serious.

Donna lifted her arms to point up, when Harry realized that it was starting to rain. In fact, it was starting to pour. With drops falling all around them, Harry began to feel the thin paisley shirt grow heavy, and he continued to stand doing nothing.

"Come with me!" Donna shouted, grabbing Harry by the hand and running down the street.

Harry let himself be pulled away, the pair of them laughing as the skies opened up above them.


	6. Laughing in the Rain

The rain fell from the sky as if it intended to pound the entire city into the sidewalk. Donna darted down the street, pulling Harry behind her. With every step, Harry felt his shoes dragging every puddle. His hair was plastered to his forehead and the thin paisley shirt was completely soaked through. However, his mind never had time to process even the squishing of his socks in his waterlogged shoes, because he was too busy looking forward at Donna.

"Harry, this way! Come on!"

Donna darted down an alleyway, and Harry tumbled behind her. The rain certainly hadn't slowed her enthusiasm. While the skies emptied around her, her laughter still rang out and Harry couldn't help but join in.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know!"

Donna ducked out of the storm into a small space of shelter, where the overhang on the building above gave a few inches of dry air below. She pressed her back against the brick wall, attempting to catch her breath. Harry remained in the rain, trying to do the same.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Harry practically shouted, trying to make himself heard over the pounding of the rain.

Donna squinted at him, seemingly unsure of what to say. She parted her mouth slightly, taking in a deep breath before yelling in response.

"Which way is your hotel?"

Harry faintly heard her question and cocked his head to the side.

 _What does she want to go to the hotel for?_ The question didn't remain in his head for long, as every second he stood still, he became more aware of just how thoroughly soaked he was.

"This way!"

Harry tugged Donna away from her temporary sanctuary and sprinted down the remainder of the alley. Taking a sharp turn onto the road, Harry heard Donna laugh behind him.

"Harry, not so fast!"

Harry slowed down to a jog and glanced back at Donna. While the curls in her hair had been softened by the rain, their golden shine still stood out amongst the storm.

 _It's only a few more blocks to the hotel,_ Harry thought. _I can get that far._

Harry thrust Donna's duffel bag into her arms, and she gave him a surprised look.

"What are you doing?"

"Is it alright if I carry you?"

Harry's voice strained to overcome the loud thunder that rung out above them.

"What?" Donna shouted, taking a step towards him.

"Is it alright if- never mind!"

Harry bent down and lifted Donna into his arms, bridal-style. She wrapped her arms around his neck and threw her head back laughing. He staggered a few steps, bowing his head, struggling to hold her up.

 _This is a lot harder than it looks in the films,_ Harry thought, trying to pick up his pace.

Donna wriggled out of his arms and he let her down. He bit his lower lip and looked at her apologetically but she held out her arms, shouting something at him.

 _Is she telling me to get in her arms?_ Harry thought incredulously.

"Give me the guitar!" Donna repeated herself loudly.

Harry scrambled, trying to pull the guitar off of his shoulders. Donna took it and slipped it onto her own back. She grabbed him by the waist, and with little resistance from Harry, turned him around.

"What are you-"

Harry was interrupted as Donna leapt onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck. Instinctively, he trapped her knees with his elbows so she was secured piggy-back style. He straightened up, attempting to adjust his balance.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Harry didn't have to be told twice. Tightening his grip, he ran as quickly as his legs would let him. He spotted the hotel just before him, a tall and narrow building tucked away amongst the closed and dark shops. As they neared the door, Donna kicked out her feet as a battering ram. Harry used all their momentum to burst through, pivoting suddenly in the lobby in order to avoid colliding with the still-empty desk.

Donna shrieked with laughter as Harry careened up the staircase, nearly tripping over his own feet. His heart pounding, Harry finally made it to the outside of Room 204. He fumbled in his pockets for his key, nearly dropping Donna in the process. The two of them giggling constantly, Harry finally got the door open and stumbled through. Once inside the room, he stood still, panting as water dripped off him onto the floor.

"Hey, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath, trying to clear his burning lungs.

"Yes?" He managed to say, straining his voice.

"You can put me down now."

Harry had completely forgotten that Donna was still on his back. Taking another step forward, Harry turned around and let his grip of Donna loosen. She eased down onto the bed, giving a slight bounce as she did so. He stood further away from her, awkwardly looking at his shoes while she tried to pour water out of the guitar.

"You're going to get hypothermia if you don't change out of those wet clothes."

Harry smiled half-heartedly, unsure of what to do next.

"That's an old wives tale. I don't think I'd get anything more than a cold."

Donna shook her head.

"Here, give me your shirt, I'll hang it to dry."

Harry hesitated, but started unbuttoning the paisley shirt from the top. He was careful not to break any of the buttons on the shirt, which looked just about as old as he was, and after managing to undo the top four buttons, he glanced up. In front of him, Donna sat on the edge of the bed, holding back laughter.

 _Oh god, I can't take off my shirt in front of her,_ Harry thought, turning away and trying to step into the bathroom. He quickly tried to get through the remaining buttons, assuming that he could just grab a nearby tee-shirt before she had enough time to see him shirtless.

"I'm sorry if I'm offending your modesty, Mr. Bright, I can step out if you'd like."

"Oh no, no, I should be apologizing."

"What for?"

"You must be freezing. I can lend something to change into. Your duffel bag must be soaked!"

"Who says we need new clothes?"

"Well, you can't stay in those. You'll get hypothermia, isn't that what you said?"

"Who said we needed _any_ clothes?"

Harry paused, leaving the paisley shirt half open. He stood up as straight as a ruler, and tried to look at Donna, but found he couldn't look her in the eye.

 _Get your mind out of the gutter, she's only joking, you pervert._

"I….I...I'd say clothes are generally….good for….warmth and….comfort."

Donna shrugged off her multicolored jacket and stood. Harry's eyes followed her as she walked across the room, shook her jacket out, and hung it on the back of a chair. She bent over, picking up her duffel bag, and began emptying it out. As she spoke, she methodically laid out her clothing on Harry's dresser- first an assortment of skirts, shorts, and jeans; next a few shirts and blouses; then several undergarments that Harry couldn't find the confidence to more than glance at as she took them out.

"There are many ways to get warmth and comfort, Harry."

"I don't….I don't think the hotel has a fireplace, Donna."

Donna turned towards him, a smirk on her face and her eyebrows arched. She took a few steps in his direction, and Harry backed into the wall, his eyes widening. He moved his hands away from his side, unsure of where to place them.

 _Crossed on my chest? No, not casual enough. Out in front of me? Am I a traffic officer?_

Harry settled on placing his hands on his hips. He stiffened his chest, trying to appear as though he wasn't panicking internally.

Donna continued walking towards him, and Harry tried to back further into the wall. She stopped in front of him and had a devilish look in her eye when she tried to catch his eye.

"Who said we need a fireplace?"

"I…."

Harry stopped speaking as Donna's hands began tugging at the remaining buttons. He didn't care if the buttons broke anymore. His entire mental energy was focused on not melting into a puddle as her hands brushed against his bare skin.

"You really should let this dry."

Harry tried to sidestep around Donna as he peeled the wet paisley shirt off his back. Donna took it from his hands and returned to the opposite side of the room. Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding as she laid the shirt out over the seat of the chair.

"Donna, I…."

She looked up expectantly, waiting him to finish his statement. Unfortunately, all knowledge of the English language had slipped from his mind once he opened his mouth. He felt like an idiot, is mouth hanging open, hands on his hips, no shirt, staring at Donna.

Donna's eyes met his, and she maintained their eye contact as she crossed the room. Her hands tugged at the bottom corners of her shirt as she slowly lifted it over her head. As she pulled it off, she dropped it on the floor beside her. Harry refused to let himself look down and continued looking into Donna's sparkling eyes. Earlier, he had wondered what she may be the goddess of. Based on his current perspective, mischief seemed likely.

"Donna, there's very likely someone at the front desk who can get you a room for the night. "

Donna paused in her approach, giving Harry a curious look.

"Would you like me to get my own room, Harry?"

Harry didn't move. He was completely frozen in place. Donna took another step towards him.

"I can stay, Harry."

"You don't have to do that, Donna."

"Do you want me to?"

Donna's smile returned as she stood in front of Harry. Her hands rested on his upper arms and he flinched as her fingers touched him gently, soft and light.

Harry tried to break their eye contact by looking down. This was a terrible idea on his part. He was immediately stopped when he remembered she had taken off her shirt. Instead, he saw a pale pink brassiere. His hands slipped away from his hips and unconsciously began to move towards hers. He no longer felt the water dripping from his soaking wet jeans, but now noticed how tight they were becoming in a certain area.

He couldn't even complete a coherent thought. He tried to summon one together. About her beauty? About her confidence? Nothing. He was utterly dumbstruck.

It took every fiber in his being to look up. He came to Donna's eyes again, but upon seeing the teasing look in them, continued upwards, looking at the ceiling. He let his hands return flat to his side, locking his entire body in place.

"Donna, I don't want to force you into anything. I was very out of line earlier when I suggested…..when I suggested anything of an inappropriate nature."

"You aren't forcing me into anything, Harry."

He continued looking up at the ceiling as her hands pulled away from him. He hadn't realized how much he craved her touch until they lost contact. It was as though a part of him was dying.

As though she sensed this, Donna spoke up again.

"Harry, do you want me?"

"Yes."

Harry surprised himself by squeaking out a response without any trepidation. His eyes meandered from their point on the ceiling to return to looking into Donna's. She looked a bit more shy than she had before, unbelievable to Harry given the confidence she had sauntered up to him with.

"What do you want me to do?"

Harry asked the question, closing the space between them. His voice wavered slightly, lower and huskier than he'd ever heard himself speak.

Donna wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in even more tightly.

"Kiss me, Harry."

 _You don't need to tell me twice_ , Harry thought.


	7. Dot Dot Dot

Harry didn't think he'd ever be able to return to being warmed by fireplaces. Or clothes for that matter. God, he never wanted to put clothes on ever again. That was his first coherent thought as he tried to catch his breath. How could a fireplace ever satisfy him again when he had experienced such glory? How could flickers of flame excite him like a kiss from Donna Sheridan? How could the crackling wood ever compare to her soft breathing as he lay his head on her stomach? How could even a blazing bonfire ever give him the same heat as Donna's legs entangled with his own?

Donna's breath was beginning to return to its regular pace. Harry was slightly proud to have tired her out. In fact, he was more proud of that accomplishment than anything he had ever done before in his life, even if he might not admit that out loud. He needed to maintain some dignity.

 _But who needs dignity,_ Harry thought, _when this is so much better than dignity?_

Harry was afraid to speak, worried that doing so would force them to return to reality. He wanted to stay in this cocoon of hotel sheets, his head resting on her stomach and his arms wrapped around her waist.

He wasn't entirely sure how they had managed to get to this point, if he was being honest. Just mentioning spending the night together had taken every ounce of his reckless courage, but now here she was, lying beside him. Usually, he was anxious in every decision he made, constantly questioning the results. But today, with Donna, he must have done something right.

It had all started when she told her to kiss him as she backed him against the wall. No, he supposed it had to start when they ran through the rain back to the hotel. In retrospect, perhaps it had started when they met in the hotel lobby that morning. Harry was slightly convinced it had started the day he was born, and this moment was the culmination of everything that had happened in his lifetime.

 _And it was all worth it,_ Harry thought. _For this._

Donna shifted slightly underneath him and Harry squeezed her gently in an awkward, parallel hug.

"That was...the best thing that has ever happened to me."

A genuine smile was plastered to Harry's face as he continued.

"I mean, I've had a pretty good life. Lots of happy memories, but, that was the best. Was it good for you?"

Harry reconsidered his question while waiting for Donna to answer. While he didn't have any other experience to compare it to, he thought Donna had seemed to enjoy it. Probably not as much as he had, but she hadn't complained or anything. Although, the mechanics had shocked him a bit. Not that he hadn't known going in- his father had tried to give him a very censored lecture several years ago, and discussions with classmates had filled in the rest. But fitting that? In there? It couldn't possibly be very pleasant for her.

"No, I'm sure it must have hurt," Harry added a bit guiltily.

"It was," Donna paused, "very nice."

Donna's voice was very casual, and she placed a hand on Harry's head and absentmindedly stroking his hair which, while dry for the rain, had perspired quite a bit as a result of….their lovemaking.

 _Very nice,_ Harry thought. _I did that. I was very nice._

"Thank you."

Harry gave her another tight squeeze as an expression of gratitude before rolling his head slightly to look up at her.

 _Good God, she is beautiful. She is divine. I would die for her-_

Harry's thoughts were interrupted when a slight smirk brought the corner of Donna's lip up.

"Thank you for what?"

Her voice was innocent in tone, but certainly not in nature. Harry thought for a moment.

"Thank you for not laughing."

"Well, I laughed a little bit."

That was true. While they had both been very passionate, and Harry in particular, very eager, their banter had never really ceded during the engagement. At one point, when Harry had finally gotten the courage to place his hands on Donna's bare skin, he had remarked that he might lose consciousness. She said it was adorable and didn't attempt to stifle her giggle.

 _Although, that did give me another excuse to kiss her,_ Harry pondered. _Being laughed at is quite enjoyable when this is the result._

"And I suppose, Harry, I should thank you."

Astonished, Harry pulled himself up into sitting position and looked down at her in shock.

"What could you possibly have to thank me for?"

Donna teased, "You were quite the gentleman."

"Well, I-"

Donna sat up alongside him, keeping the bed sheet wrapped around her torso.

"I didn't lose control due to overwhelming lust, so I suppose that is the bare minimum to being a gentleman."

Donna laughed and placed her arm on his shoulder. He blushed and looked shyly into her eyes, as though they weren't already lying in bed together.

"Donna, I know you're leaving tomorrow, but I personally think you should stay. Right here."

"And for how long?"

"As long as you'd like. The rest of the week. The entire summer. The whole next semester."

 _Forever,_ Harry silently added.

"Well, I can't stay right here. I'll have to get out of the bed eventually. Food is necessary to live."

"No, it isn't. We'll live on sex alone."

Donna playfully elbowed Harry's stomach and he exaggerated a pained response.

"Wouldn't that be lovely, Donna?"

Harry nestled closer to Donna until their faces were mere centimeters apart.

"It would be wonderful."

Harry delicately kissed her again, feeling his heart flutter as she kissed him in return.

"Although, in that situation, I think we'd have to change your nickname slightly," Donna added.

Harry tilted his head, slightly confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we couldn't call you Harry Headbanger. If you lived on sex alone, you'd be Harry _Headboard_ Banger."

Harry burst out laughing at the thought of such a promiscuous nickname. But soon, he had a smirk on his face as he turned back to face Donna.

"You didn't even accept Harry Headbanger at face value. I had to buy a guitar just to get you to believe me."

"Then I guess you'll have to prove yourself worthy of the title."

"Will I?"

Donna opened her mouth to reply, but Harry kissed her again. Donna playfully shoved him away before pulling him back in.

"You continue to surprise me, Harry. I guess you're more spontaneous than you claim to be."

Their banter continued as they kissed, embraced, and...more. As the night drew on, Harry turned off the lights to go to sleep, both of them fully exhausted. In the darkness, they continued to whisper about anything- from silly jokes to their dreams of the future to secrets they would never have dared to say in the light. Eventually, Donna fell asleep, snuggled in Harry's arms.

Feeling his resolve to stay awake weakening, Harry couldn't help but whisper once more into the night although nobody was awake to hear him.

"Donna, I love you."


	8. Morning After

The sunlight streamed in the dusty hotel window, and, for the second morning in a row, woke up the sleeping tenant inside. However, on this second day, Harry was a bit more pleasant waking up. As the light filled the room, he rested his head against the pillows and looked up at the ceiling silently thanking whoever had blessed him with the most amazing day (and night) of his life. He felt so fulfilled, so joyful, and so warm-

On a second thought, he didn't feel quite as warm as he had the day before. Harry rolled onto his side and realized that he was alone in the bed. Urgently, Harry sat up and scanned the room. His clothes from the previous day still hung haphazardly over the furniture, but they seemed to be the only ones. Harry rolled over and saw that he was alone in the bed. Where Donna had been was a cold, empty space.

"Donna?"

There was a dull echo to his voice, and no response came in the empty bedroom. Harry scrambled to untangle himself from the sheets, which had gone from feeling loosely thrown over him to a mummifying torture device. He tumbled off of the bed in the process, managing to get one hand out to catch himself. Upon wriggling out and standing, Harry grabbed a pillow and bashfully held it over his lower body. He had nearly forgotten he wasn't wearing pyjamas. Not that Donna hadn't seen him without clothing, that wasn't his primary concern. But it did occur to him that were she to turn up fully clothed, it would be quite the parallel to the previous morning, albeit on a much more risqué level.

Harry continued calling for Donna, walking around the perimeter of the room and peering into the lavatory.

 _Where did she go off to?_

Harry's concern began to grow. It was as if every clue of her presence had been swept from the room, as if she had never existed. The bright and colorful clothing he had distinctly remembered being laid out on the dresser had vanished. The duffel bag that had rhythmically beat against his shoulder as he carried her through the rain was missing as well. But the guitar was still leaning against the wall where it had been left to dry out the night before, and Harry let out a sigh of relief.

 _At least that certifies I haven't imagined the whole thing,_ he thought. _I just need to calm down._

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Harry took a deep breath and began to consider the possibilities of where Donna could be.

 _The hotel lobby? No, she doesn't need a room any longer. To the cleaner's? Would explain the missing clothes. Breakfast? She must be starving._

He began to feel a bit better as he reasoned out the situation. It was a Sunday, so the cleaner's wouldn't be open, but Donna might not have considered that before she set off. She hadn't taken his room key, but he supposed that she wouldn't hesitate to borrow the one behind the desk again. Harry glanced at the clock on the wall.

 _It's nearly seven,_ Harry thought to himself. _I suppose I'll wait for her here._

Resolved to stay in the room until Donna returned, Harry decided that he might as well make use of his time. When he first met Donna, he had been so eager to spend as much time as possible with her that any serious thought to his appearance had been put on the backburner.

"Right, then," Harry spoke aloud to himself. "Better make myself look decent."

He returned the pillow he had been holding over himself to the top of the bed and slipped into the bathroom. Turning on the shower, Harry ran his hands in the water and jumped back at the chill. Waiting for the water to heat up, Harry looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't see David Bright anymore, the bland banker from London. He didn't even see Harry Bright, the stuffy virgin living in a hotel for the summer.

"I'm Harry fuckin' Headbanger, that's who I am."

He cockily grinned, checking himself out in the mirror. He was a badass rocker that traded shirts for guitars in second-hand shops. He was a romantic that carried beautiful women through thunderstorms. And above all, he was spontaneous. Donna had made him spontaneous.

Stepping into the shower, Harry let the hot water rush over him.

 _Lather, rinse, and repeat,_ he thought, slicking his hair up into a mohawk before washing out the shampoo.

He entertained himself whilst cleaning and shaving by imagining that Donna had joined him in the shower but briefly attempted to keep his mind out of the gutter.

 _Get it together, Harry,_ he chastised himself silently. _Keep it in your pants._

 _But I'm not wearing any pants,_ Harry considered, arguing against his own conscience.

Once he was clean, or at least his body was clean (his mind may have been a lost cause after meeting Donna if he was being honest), Harry turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Drying his feet on the mat, Harry walked back into the bedroom and did a brief check around the room. Still no Donna.

 _How long does it take to get breakfast?_ He began to worry a bit more, especially after checking the time. Donna had been gone at least an hour, as it was nearing eight. _Maybe she got lost._

Harry pulled another pair of jeans and a grey tee-shirt out of his dresser and quickly got dressed. His leather jacket had dried overnight, and he slipped it on as the final touch to his outfit. Glancing out the window every few seconds, Harry hoped to see that familiar golden blonde hair down on the sidewalk.

 _Alright, I'll leave a note on the door and go look for her,_ Harry decided.

He looked around the room for pen and paper and saw some on the opposite bedside table. Crossing over to jot down his message, Harry noticed handwriting on the paper already. The cursive handwriting had been done quickly, but was still fine enough to be legible. It was probably as neat as it could be, written at the crack of dawn by somebody who had clearly been in a rush to get going. Harry picked the paper up and felt his stomach drop as he processed the message in front of him.

It was as if time stood still. He kept rereading it, and must have done so a thousand times, refusing to believe the words in front of him. It was a kind note, one of endearing affection, but it was still a goodbye.

" _Dear Harry,_

 _Thank you very much for a wonderful night. I'm sorry to leave without saying a proper goodbye, but I was having such a nice time that the longer I stayed, the harder it would be to get on my train to Greece. I suppose I'm very lucky to have met somebody it's so hard to say goodbye to._

 _I hope you know that you're a very special person, Harry. You just need to be a bit more spontaneous to see it yourself. Make sure to go on an adventure for me._

 _Donna"_


	9. All Alone

Lying on the bed, Harry stared at the ceiling. He wasn't sure he had ever felt this lonely. He had only spent a day with Donna, but it had felt like a lifetime. And now, that lifetime was over and he might as well be dead. He didn't feel dramatic at all for thinking such a thing because it truly felt like the world was ending.

His growling stomach brought him back to reality. Regardless of how miserable and heartbroken he was, Harry still needed to eat. Dragging himself out of the bed, he slid on his shoes, grabbed the room key, and trudged out the door. He kept the note in his hand, unable to put it down. After all, it was the last thing he really had left of the love of his life. He followed the similar, monotonous route he had on the days before Donna arrived. Three blocks down, take a left, continue another block, stop at the bakery. Order a croissant with strawberry jam on the side, along with a cup of tea. Sit in the back of the restaurant, all alone, and tune out everything around you. Live in silence.

Inside, however, he couldn't stop the voices from shouting. Some were his own, the things he should have said the day before. Some mocked him, telling him he didn't deserve a woman like Donna anyways. While his father couldn't possibly say any of that to him, as he didn't even know of Donna's existence, the voices sounded particularly like David Bright. But the worst voices read the note Donna had left, a constant goodbye repeating in his mind. It was Donna's voice, compassionate and caring, always on the edge of breaking into a smile. But when her voice spoke, his heart shattered slightly more each time.

" _A wonderful night"_

Harry took a sip of his hot tea and was reminded of the warmth he now lacked.

" _You're a very special person"_

He spread a spoonful of jam on his croissant and began to eat, with little notice to any of the taste. It was just fuel for going through the motions.

" _I'm very lucky to have met somebody it's so hard to say goodbye to"_

Harry finished his breakfast and leaned forward, resting his head on his arms. A waitress passed by to clear the table, and Harry quietly thanked her before exiting the restaurant. As he walked back to the hotel, Harry was emotionally exhausted. He'd been holding back tears all day and he wanted to cry in his self-imposed solitary confinement.

Entering the lobby, Harry saw somebody behind the desk and immediately perked up. However, he was disappointed to see an older, tired man in a uniform.

The employee addressed him with a slight tone of offense, "Bonjour, monsieur."

Harry nodded in his direction.

"Bonjour. Vous n'avez pas travailler hier?" Harry inquired if he had worked the previous day.

"Non," the man replied, explaining he, in fact, did not work on Saturdays.

Harry accepted the answer and continued on his way to his room. He spent much of the rest of the day there, speaking to nobody, except the gentleman at the front desk when he had to order room service. He tried to keep himself awake, strumming the guitar for a few minutes at a time and putting away his dried clothes from the previous day. He attempted to read a few pages out of his old copy of "Robinson Crusoe," but hardly paid attention to anything in front of him He would hit the bottom of the page and not absorb a single word. Mostly, Harry preferred to lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing he was wherever Donna was.

 _I'll never find love again,_ Harry thought to himself, _I'll grow old, slowly dying._

While people always said that when you lose someone you care about, the pain heals with time, Harry didn't feel that applied in this situation. With the time that passed, his young love would only grow into a deeper feeling of loss for what could have been.

As the day crept on, the room slowly grew darker. Harry considered turning on the light, but didn't see any point in remaining awake. It wasn't as if the next morning, Donna would magically reappear. Strangely, he wasn't angry at Donna at all. She had spent much of their acquaintance telling him all about the adventures she wanted to go on.

"I don't know what my future holds," she had said, "but the world is wide and I want to make some memories."

How could he resent her free spirit? She knew what she wanted and went out to get it. Harry was too much of a coward to take life by the reins. The loss hurt, he wouldn't lie, but that burden was his own, not Donna's. He was certain of few things now, but one of them was that he'd always be thankful to have met Donna. He just wished their time together hadn't been so short.

Harry rested his hands behind his head and sighed. He had tried to stop thinking about her, but that was pointless.

 _Who could forget a person like Donna Sheridan?_

Instead, he began to imagine the potential relationship he would never know. The two of them traveling to New York City and seeing the best live concerts in the world.

 _She'd probably go straight to Central Park,_ Harry smiled sadly, remembering Donna's love of nature, _although it doesn't have any of the beaches she said she loved._

Or perhaps they would have taken one of the adventures she had always dreamed of, galavanting across Europe and performing in any venue that would take her group.

 _She'd be up there, dazzling the crowd, and I'd play guitar._

Her voice still echoed in his mind, the pop tunes she had belted in front of the Eiffel Tower as he tried to play along. Donna had sung like an angel, and as he thought about her, it hurt less than it had earlier in the day.

 _What was it she wanted to see in Greece?_ Harry thought back to their conversation at the Waterloo.

She had mentioned an island, where Aphrodite's fountain supposedly flowed, and if you drank from it, you'd live happily ever after.

"People used to think if you sailed on from there, you'd fall off the edge of the world. That sounds like the place for me," Donna had told him.

 _Sounds like the place for me too,_ Harry silently lamented, _I'd like to fall off the edge of the world right about now._

The thoughts tumbled around in his mind, like clothing in a washing machine or dryer.

" _Be a bit more spontaneous," she had written._

" _Make sure to go on an adventure."_

" _I want to make some memories."_

Harry rolled over, closing his eyes. He didn't want to think anymore, he just wanted the terrible day to end. His mind fought a vigilant battle against him.

" _Sounds like the place for me."_

" _Come with me!"_

" _You're a very special person, Harry."_

He remembered his passionate and stupid confession while they had danced at the Waterloo. He remembered their wonderful night in each other's arms. Harry was on the verge of tears once more.

" _Go an adventure."_

" _For me."_

" _Be a bit more spontaneous."_

" _For me."_

" _I promise."_

" _Kalokairi"_

Harry jolted up in bed. He tumbled over the bed as he reached for the light switch, and blocked his eyes after remembering that he'd been lying in the darkness for quite a while. How had he not figured it out before?

"I should go after her!" Harry shouted to nobody in particular.

He began yanking clothing out of his dresser and shoving it into a tan duffel bag that had been half-tucked under his bed.

 _It's warm in Greece, right?_

An extra tee-shirt joined the bag. His passport soon followed, along with all the pocket money he had tucked away in his room. Anything he forgot, he'd find a way to get.

 _Can't forget this,_ Harry thought, grabbing the guitar and shrugging the strap over his shoulder.

He tripped over his own feet trying to get his bright green sneakers on and raced out the door. Bringing the hotel key as an afterthought, Harry shoved it to the bottom of the bag and kept running. He was halfway down the stairs when a joyful grin appeared on his face for the first time that day. He had careened past the half-asleep attendant, out the door, and several blocks down the road before he broke out into laughter in the dark Paris night.

Harry ran even more quickly than he had in the rain. He sprinted like his feet were on fire and the train station was the only source of water.

He shoved aside tourists that blocked his way, receiving several angry shouts of "Où allez-vous?," "Where are you going?"

"Kalokairi!" Harry screamed, "I'm going to Kalokairi!"

It was practically the dead of night when he saw the entrance to la gare rising in front of him. He didn't stop until he was in the train station line, but Harry's heart beat as though it were about to break out of his chest.

"Je voudrais un billet pour la Grèce. Je vais à Kalokairi! Rapidement s'il vous plaît!"

Harry begged the seller to give him the ticket more quickly. Sliding money across the desk, Harry ignored any mention of price or the distance of the trip. It didn't matter that it would be nearly a day on a cramped train or if it cost him an arm and a leg. He would do anything to get on that train. Once he had the ticket, Harry raced to the track. He had a quarter of an hour until the train arrived, but every minute would be agony. He spotted a nearby payphone and walked over to it.

Dropping in the coins, he dialed a familiar number. The only number he had called in his time in Paris. The other end picked up.

"Who the fuck is this, calling at such an hour? You do know it's the fucking middle of the night?"

"It's Harry, Dad."

"You'd better be dying or dead to be calling me-"

"I won't be calling at the regular hour this week. I'm going to be out of town."

"What do you mean, out of town-"

"I'm already at the station. I have to go, my train leaves soon, Dad."

"Why the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I'm taking a chance, Dad."

His father continued yelling into the receiver, but Harry hung up the phone and walked away. He'd pay for it someday, but that day wasn't today. He was going to follow Donna to the edge of the Earth, and it didn't matter if he fell off.

The train arrived, and Harry handed his ticket to the conductor before climbing on. Nestling himself into one of the seats, he placed his bag and the guitar on the bench next to him. He rested his head against the window.

"I'm on my way," he whispered into the night, "Kalokairi, here I come."


	10. Hopped on a Train or Two

It was rather fortunate that Harry had brought along Donna's slightly affectionate note on his journey. After all, it was the only thing that kept him sane over the next week.

It had taken Harry nearly a day to decide to follow Donna, and he was kicking himself for not thinking to do it immediately. He had no idea when exactly she had left. If only he wasn't a deep sleeper, he might have been able to stop her. Harry tried to brush away the negative thoughts. Maybe Donna would wander on her path and they'd arrive in Greece at the same time.

 _Destiny,_ Harry grinned.

The recommended route he began on would have included several portions, starting with an eight hour trip to Munich. Within a half hour, he would have been able to board a train to Sofia, which would have taken him twenty-five hours, but allowed him to continue on to Volos immediately, which would serve as a final six hour leg. After that, he would only have to take a brief ferry, no more than an hour, to get to the island of Kalokairi. It wasn't the most direct route, but it had left Paris in the middle of the night, which was exactly the kind of spontaneity he needed. Harry could have waited in Paris a few extra days for the perfect route to appear once more, but that would have involved him maintaining his courage and recklessness. It wasn't worth the risk.

Completely convinced with the brilliancy of his plan, Harry had put little thought into potential complications. There was no possible way he could have known that Donna had already arrived in Kalokairi Sunday afternoon, nor that his journey would take far longer than intended.

"I'm going to Kalokairi," he couldn't help but repeat, looking out the window at the French countryside flying by in the dark night. Harry was in slight disbelief he was following through with this plan. He refused to let any thoughts other than love trouble him because he was convinced that this was the only option he had.

After a few hours of shifting uncomfortably on the train seat, the adrenaline that had spurred Harry to race to the station was long forgotten. He could barely keep his eyes open, fully tuckered out from an eventful day. The emotional exhaustion of losing Donna, the exuberant hope that came jumping on a train and following her to Greece, and the sprinkle of fear from standing up to his father were all taking their toll and around three o'clock in the morning, Harry finally drifted off to sleep.

The muffled voice of a conductor filtered into Harry's dreams. Rubbing his eyes, Harry stretched his limbs to wake himself up fully. The train car was bright, sunrise having occurred several hours before. The pitter-patter repetition of the train tracks was a tempting lullaby to go back to sleep, but Harry willed himself to stay awake. He was grateful for the few hours he had gotten, as they were sorely needed, but he wanted to remain as alert as possible for his journey.

The train car was mostly empty, except for a few other wearied passengers. Closest to him was an older woman with greying hair who was reading a newspaper. Harry would have guessed she was somewhere between fifty and seventy, the former seeming a bit young and the latter seeming a bit old, but sixty seeming too definite of a number to settle on. Shifting over to the other end of the seat he was on, Harry politely interrupted the woman.

"Hello, bonjour?" Harry ventured, hoping that the woman spoke one of the two languages.

"Hello." The woman replied in a heavy Welsh accent. She barely looked up from her copy of the Guardian as Harry continued the conversation.

"I am very sorry to bother you, but would you be able to tell me what the conductor has just said? I'm afraid I missed it."

"He announced that we are an hour from Prague."

Harry was startled by her response. Stuttering, he begged for more information.

"Prague? I thought this train was bound for Munich!"

"That stop was hours ago."

"What time is it now?"

"It's nearly quarter to eight."

Harry mumbled a quick thank you to the woman before slumping back into his seat. Apparently, he had slept much longer than intended and was now on his way to a different country than he had intended to go. Trying to ward off the panic that was starting within him, Harry focused on potential benefits that came from the situation.

 _At least I'll go on that adventure Donna told me to._

He kicked his feet up on the seat across from him and pulled the guitar onto his lap. Glancing around to see if anyone was bothered by the noise, he quietly strummed the guitar. A few people looked up, but they generally ignored him.

"Waterloo...I was defeated, you won the war," Harry hummed, remembering the passionate declaration he had made in the restaurant. "Waterloo…..promise to love you forever more."

It seemed like a lifetime ago, but in fact, his life had changed so rapidly in just a few days. Saturday morning, he had been locked out of his hotel room and Monday morning, he had missed his train stop in Munich. When Donna was involved, he never knew what was coming next. Harry found that he liked the spontaneity more than he would have ever guessed.

"So how could I ever refuse," Harry tried to keep his voice low, as to not disturb the other passengers, "I feel like I win when I lose!"

He was unsuccessful in his attempt and the woman nearby took a moment to look away from his newspaper and glare. She issued a brief, matronly shush and Harry felt chided. He slid the guitar off of his lap and returned to staring out the window.

 _Is this Germany? Or have we entered the Soviet Union?_

He couldn't tell where they were, exactly. It was hard to believe that he would end up in Prague; he knew a fair amount about the Soviet Union from his studies, but had learned far more from his father's anti-communist sentiments. Harry didn't have any strong opinions on communism, per say, which was strange, considering he was working in capitalist finance. He definitely preferred capitalism, but figured it was likely a nurtured instinct rather than a natural one. If detained by the Soviets while in Prague, he certainly wasn't going to comment on the issue if it could be avoided.

Eventually, a large domed building that appeared to be a train station appeared ahead of them. Behind it, Harry could see multi-tiered towers reaching into the sky that seemed to be centuries old, surrounded by more modern concrete structures. Activity was bustling all around- outside, there was no longer countryside but a series of increasingly crowded towns merging into the city. Other passengers began to gather their belongings, and Harry nervously followed suit.

 _I hope somebody here speaks English._

The engine began to slow down and the brakes began screeching against the tracks as the train came to a stop in the station. When the doors opened, it was as if flood gates had been lifted in both directions. Harry elbowed his way through the crowd, wrapping his arms around the guitar to protect it from the rush of people boarding the train.

His feet thudded into the concrete platform, and Harry managed to get to a nearby pillar. Leaning against it, he took in his surroundings. What had been so hectic moments before was starting to calm down as everyone boarded their trains or departed from the station. A large and overbearing clock hung over a nearby ticket sellers desk, telling him it was nearly nine. He tried to visualize a map of Europe in his mind.

 _Is Prague bringing me closer to Greece, or am I way off course?_

He scrutinized a nearby sign, which appeared to be written in Russian, or Czech, or perhaps both. It was pointless to try and deduce what any of the writing said, and Harry wandered towards the ticket salesman looking for help.

"Hello, bonjour?"

The salesman looked at him blankly for a moment. He wasn't much older than Harry, probably in his early 30s at most. Wispy brown bangs made a failed attempt to cover his receding hairline, and the scruff on his chin revealed he was likely overworked, or perhaps just a bit lazy. He raised his thick, dark eyebrows and bordered on rolling his almost-black eyes. As he replied, Harry was drawn in by his heavy accent, which resembled the Russian accent he expected, but was a bit harsher on his consonants.

"Hello, sir. What do you need?"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god, somebody who spoke his language.

"I need to get a train to Greece. Volos, Greece. You see, it's kind of a funny story-"

The man stepped away from the sales desk to observe the travel schedules on the table behind him. Harry let his voice fade out, aware that the man likely didn't care about the fact he was chasing after a beautiful girl or that he had slept through his intended transfer stop.

"I cannot get you to Volos."

Harry's face began to tense into a state of worry, furrowing his brow and biting his lower lip as the man continued.

"I do see a train to Sofia, Bulgaria. You will find a train to Volos there, I am sure."

"That's fantastic, thank you so much. When does the train to Sofia leave?"

"Two days."

Harry was flabbergasted.

"Two days? What am I supposed to do for two days?"

"Wait for the train, what else will you do?"

"I don't know anyone here! I don't speak the language!"

"Look, English Nancy boy, the train is Wednesday. Do you want a ticket?"

"I'm not a Nancy boy," Harry retorted, crossing his arms in front of him and a slight pout on his face. "Yes, I'll take a ticket."

The salesman shrugged and offered him the ticket. Harry pulled out a faded traveler's check that had been shoved to the bottom of his bag.

"I don't have the local money, will this do?"

The salesman gave him a curt nod, accepting the check and handing Harry the ticket.

"Thanks."

Harry held the ticket in one hand, and had his bag and guitar in the other. Resting near a wall, he looked down to read it.

"Noon on Wednesday. A full day's ride, and not arriving until ten the next day. I'm bloody unlikely to sleep through that one."

As Harry turned to walk away, he heard the salesman call out behind him.

"Hey, Nancy boy, do you play?"

Harry's face turned slightly annoyed as he stopped in place.

"Stop calling me Nancy boy."

The salesman smirked, but not in a malicious way.

"Okay," the salesman glanced down at the traveler's check in front of him, "Harry Bright."

Harry turned himself around fully, acknowledging the proper use of his name.

"Mr. Harry Bright, do you play?"

"Play what?"

"The guitar."

He pointed at the guitar strapped on Harry's back and cocked his head to the side waiting for an answer.

"Yes," Harry replied, unsure of where the line of questioning was leading.

"Good, you come with me. I will give you a place to stay if you come play."

Harry hesitated.

 _Donna told me to be spontaneous. Maybe I should be spontaneous. Getting murdered with an axe in the Soviet Union isn't worth being spontaneous._

The salesman said something to somebody else behind the desk before stepping out and approaching Harry.

"Josef," he introduced himself, offering his hand to shake.

"What do you mean you want me to come play?"

"My brother owns a bar and I am playing tonight. My friend who plays guitar cannot make it. If you come play, maybe sing in English, I will let you stay with me until Wednesday. Then, you can take your train and go to Greece."

Josef continued walking towards the exit, and Harry felt compelled to follow.

"But why would I sing in English-"

"We like your British songs here. And many of us speak languages besides Czech or Russian. Mostly German, but there is some English."

"I can't say I've spent much time with Soviets-"

Josef turned harshly, his once friendly expression now bordering on anger.

"We are not Soviets," the words were uttered through clenched teeth. "We are Czechs."

Harry's mouth hung slightly open and he was unsure how to proceed.

"I'm sorry, I thought-"

"You do not need to apologize. Just don't call us Soviets."

"Understood."

Almost instantly, the mood returned to the amiable beginnings of friendship, surprising Harry. Josef didn't seem like the type to hold a grudge. As they walked together, he got a better look at Josef. He wore his station uniform, with faded blue slacks and a dark blue vest. The white shirt underneath seemed a bit large on him, with the end sticking out like a duck's tail. He walked with his hands behind his back, striding confidently. Harry was reminded of Donna for a moment when Josef hopped up on the sidewalk and attempted to balance on the edge as they continued down the street.

"Now Harry, what are you doing in our beautiful city? Did you tire of London?"

"I'm actually living in Paris for the summer."

"Ah, a Frenchman then."

"Never," Harry shook his head laughing, "I am from London. I'm a student in Paris."

"Then why are you not in Paris?"

"I met someone wonderful. A beautiful and brilliant American that made me feel alive."

"And this someone is in Greece now?"

"Yes, and I need to go after them. To the island of Kalokairi."

"They must be very special to you if you're willing to jump on a train and follow them all the way across a continent."

"Well, Donna is a very special woman."

"A woman?" Josef raised an eyebrow as he looked Harry up and down. Harry didn't notice.

"Yes, the most beautiful woman in the world."

Harry got a dopey grin on his face thinking about her, and his expression softened.

"And you're in love with her."

"Of course, who wouldn't fall in love with someone like Donna Sheridan?"

"No reason."

Before Harry could reply, Josef spoke up again, changing the subject.

"Let me introduce you to some excellent Czech food. Have you ever had palačinky?"

"Pardon?"

"Ah, you are in for a pleasant surprise."

Josef wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulder as they turned the corner and laughed.

 _I suppose a few more days isn't the worst thing in the world._


	11. Harry Headbanger Takes on Prague

Over the course of the afternoon, Harry was glad to have met Josef. Not only did he speak nearly all the local languages - saving Harry a great degree of embarrassment - Josef was an outgoing and enthusiastic person to be around. He had a way of drawing Harry out of his shell, and soon, they were trading stories back and forth.

"So the woman you are following, what does she look like?"

"She's absolutely beautiful, inside and out. She has long, wavy blonde hair and bright eyes, and she's about this tall," Harry said, marking a point just below his shoulder. "Actually, I can show you."

Harry reached inside his bag, remembering the two photographs they had taken together in Paris, with the city as a backdrop. He wasn't sure why he had brought them, but something inside him told him that if he found Donna, he would want to give one to her.

He held out the photo for Josef to see. Harry was to the bottom left of the photograph, his hair a mess, blowing in the wind. To the right was Donna, looking as perfect as ever. Josef looked up from the photo at Harry.

"I agree, she's beautiful. Much too beautiful to be with somebody like you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe I should join you in Greece, she might prefer a strong Czech man to an English boy like you."

"Hey!"

Josef broke out into laughter and handed the picture back to Harry.

"We have to head to the bar before the performance in a few hours. I will take you there now."

"It doesn't happen to have food, does it?"

"I promised you Czech food and I do not fail promises, Harry."

At the bar, Josef waved to one of the bartenders.

"My brother," he explained.

Tugging Harry's sleeve, Josef walked towards a booth at the side of the room. Harry grabbed a menu as they passed by the bar and tucked it under his arm. Upon sitting, Harry opened the menu and scanned for something that looked good, or at least something that he could understand and order.

 _How is it that you never realize how hungry you are until you finally have a chance to eat-_

Josef snatched the menu out of his hands and signaled for one of the waiters to come over.

"I wasn't done-"

Waving his hand, Josef cut Harry of mid-sentence. Slightly miffed, Harry tried to speak again, but Josef refused to give him the space. In rapid Czech, Josef engaged in a lively conversation with the waiter waving his hands to emphasize the point. Harry, who understood none of the discourse, attempted to mimic the waiter's reactions rather than sit there blankly. When he laughed and shook his head, Harry forced a laugh and shook his head. When he placed his hand down on the table and leaned forward towards Josef, Harry rested on his elbows and bent an ear towards Josef. When the waiter turned to Harry with a look of shock and amazement, Harry panicked and his eyes widened. Perhaps it wasn't perfect mimicry.

Slightly concerned, Harry glanced at Josef, only to see a taunting smirk.

 _Oh god, what did he say about me?_

"Er...hello there. How are you?"

Clearly enthralled, the waiter turned to Josef who apparently was translating Harry's question. Harry's confusion was obvious, as his head turned between the ecstatic waiter and Josef, who maintained a very serious disposition.

"Thank you, sir. Thank you," the waiter said to Harry in heavily accented English before reaching his hand out and offering it to Harry.

After Harry shook it, the waiter looked like he was about to cry. Harry let go and the waiter held his right hand in his left as though it was a priceless artifact. The waiter turned to Josef and spoke again in Czech before hurrying away. Harry turned back to Josef, whose eyes had taken on a particularly mischievous glint.

"You do not know what I said, do you?" Josef leaned forward on his elbows towards Harry.

"I haven't the faintest idea, no."

"I told him that you were my special guest, all the way from London."

"Are Londoners that exotic in Prague?"

Josef shook his head.

"You must let me finish. He asked why you were here and I said you had a concert for your devoted Czech fans."

"Hang on, I haven't got any devoted Czech fans."

"Who travels with a guitar to Praha if he does not have Czech fans?"

Harry shrugged incredulously, "So you convinced him I'm a famous musician?"

"Not just a famous musician. The most famous English guitarist in Czechoslovakia."

"What do you mean?"

Josef tried to speak but only managed to get out a few words as he collapsed into laughter.

"Bloody hell, get a hold of yourself. Just let it be."

His comment only seemed to insight further chaos. Josef was practically tearing up and as people sitting at nearby tables began to whisper, Harry felt his face turn bright red. Taking several deep breaths, Josef pulled himself closer to Harry, making sure that nobody nearby could hear what he was saying.

"I told them you were Paul McCartney, famous guitarist from the Beatles."

"You didn't."

Josef only grinned in response.

"Josef, please tell me you didn't."

"You are English. You have a guitar. How do I know you are not Paul McCartney?"

"Paul McCartney is nearly forty years old!"

"Keep your voice down. We wouldn't want your fans to mob you."

Harry grew as quiet as a mouse, mortified at what Josef had done. The waiter returned a few moments later with some thin pastries on a plate and Josef pushed them towards Harry. Harry listened intently as Josef spoke in Czech again. This time, he could distinctly hear the phrase "Wings."

 _This can't end well._

"Palačinky!"

The waiter gestured to the plate as if he were presenting a magnificent work of art, or a sacrifice to a benevolent god. Wide-eyed, Harry attempted to smile, and managed a small thank you before the waiter left.

"What in god's name have you gotten me into?"

"I have gotten you into free palačinky. Eat."

Harry's shoulders dropped and he looked exasperated. Josef slid the plate closer towards him, urging him to take one of the thin pancakes.

 _What would Paul McCartney do?_

Harry took one of the treats and began eating. It looked sort of like a crepe, but tasted sweeter and lighter. Inside was a strawberry jam which satisfied Harry's sweet tooth for possibly the rest of his life.

"Josef," Harry whispered, "please don't tell me you are expecting me to perform at this bar with everyone thinking I'm Paul McCartney."

Despite his protests, Harry was very much aware that he was at the mercy of Josef's jovial nature. Even if he wanted to, it wasn't as if he could get out of it now. He didn't know how to say 'I am not the legendary guitarist from the most famous pop band of the last decade that changed the face of the music industry" in Czech.

"They can't tell the difference. You said you play guitar."

Before Harry could continue to panic, Josef reached over to rest his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I didn't tell them you're Paul McCartney."

"Thank god-"

"I only told them you are a close friend of his."

"Why would you do that?"

"You'll only be here for two nights. Don't you want to be famous for a few nights?"

Harry let the corner of his mouth rise ever so slightly. Josef put his hands up like he was showing off a billboard.

"Harry Bright, tonight only!"

"No, that's not a very good rockstar name at all."

"Then what is your name?"

"Harry Headbanger," he declared confidently.

Before Josef could interrupt, Harry added, "Donna liked it."

Josef shrugged in response, still holding back laughter.

"Harry Headbanger it is."

The rest of the meal was uneventful. Well, it was uneventful given Harry's new celebrity status. The waiter came out and asked for his autograph (which he felt extreme guilt signing, but did anyway). Josef's brother, a man who shared his dark hair and large frame, wrapped his arms around Harry and gave him a bear hug before he declared something to the entire bar that caused them to erupt in cheers. The number of photos taken of him in one night surpassed the amount taken of him in the entirety of his life.

"Harry, come meet the musicians."

In the corner of the room stood two people, chatting quietly as they moved around the instruments. The woman leaning against the piano wasn't much shorter than Harry but was much leaner, and had dark brown hair pulled back into a bun. Harry couldn't tell how tall the man was, since he was bent over assembling the drum kit but he had a very thin frame and blonde hair that was around shoulder length. As Harry approached, they looked up with curious expressions.

"This is Tomas, our drummer." Josef gestured to the man with sideburns. "Dominika pays the piano."

Harry gave a very large and very fake smile as he offered his hand to shake.

"Hello, I'm Harry. Very nice to meet you."

 _This is sort of fun, pretending I'm a celebrity,_ Harry thought, feeling a bit silly. _It's like I'm undercover._

"I've never heard of any Harry Headbanger," Dominika squinted at him.

 _My cover's been blown. ABORT, ABORT, ABORT-_

"I...um…."

Josef interrupted, chuckling as he covered for the panicking Harry.

"Dominika, he's new to the industry," Josef laughed.

"You speak English?"

Harry spoke partly out of shock and partly out of excitement. With another English speaker around, it would be harder for Josef to play tricks on him. Tomas moved towards the group to join in the conversation.

"Many here speak English. Why are you surprised?"

"My entire day, Josef has been telling me that he needs to speak for me, since everyone speaks Czech."

Harry turned to Josef to confirm, but the other man had a guilty smile on his face.

"Perhaps I exaggerated. But you enjoyed your day, no?"

"Oh, you bugger-"

Harry playfully punched Josef in the shoulder, conceding that he had fallen for the charade. The initial embarrassment over with, Harry began making quick friends with Tomas and Dominika. Both admitted that while they had not heard of him, anybody that was friends with the legendary Paul McCartney was certainly worth performing with. Harry replied that performing with what must be the greatest band in Prague would be the far greater privilege.

The performances themselves were upbeat and fun. The songs didn't all follow a specific trend, but Harry would have designated it as a Russian folk rock band if he had to choose a genre. He knew very few of the songs, especially those performed in Czech and Russian, but thanks to Dominika's chord progression signals, he was able to keep up. Once in a while, Josef would cease singing in his deep, mellow voice and point to Harry, at which point he would step forward and solo. Those moments were particularly gratifying- seeing patrons of the bar turn towards him and cheer on the overexcited English boy rock out on an acoustic guitar.

"In honor of Harry Headbanger's presence, we will now perform a song by his friend, Paul McCartney!" Josef cheered into the microphone, repeating the statement in Czech.

" _Oh yeah I tell you somethin', I think you'll understand,"_ Josef belted. " _When I say that somethin', I want to hold your hand."_

Harry leaned into the microphone, smiling at Josef next to him. The crowd cheered as Harry Headbanger joined in for the chorus.

" _I want to hold your hand, I want to hold your hand"_

The song was their most successful of the night, receiving a full round of applause. Josef's brother came up and thanked the band for coming out to play, and apologized that they were closing early.

"You know we have no choice but to close early on Mondays," he replied. "Tonight is my night at the station."

Josef turned to Harry to offer a brief explanation.

"My brother is an officer, and he patrols on Monday nights. We should get back to the apartment It's nearly midnight."

Harry was in shock at being told the time. Surely, they hadn't been playing for hours!

"I can't believe how late it's gotten! I just had a wonderful time!"

"Perhaps tomorrow night, you'll perform us a few songs in English!" Tomas joined in.

Dominika agreed, "Might as well, given how much palačinky you ate!"

Harry laughed, conceding that the first plate had simply not been enough, but it was really Josef's fault for continuing to get him more.

"Tomorrow night it is then."

Returning back to Josef's apartment was not a difficult journey, as it was only a few buildings down from the bar. Bidding adieu to Tomas and Dominika, Harry followed Josef into his home. It was reasonably large for a two bedroom apartment, and Harry asked if he had a roommate he was expecting.

"No, my roommate was the guitar player. He quit a few weeks ago. If you weren't going to Greece, I'd tell you to join the band permanently. You were very good tonight."

"You don't mean that, Josef."

Josef shrugged, not answering Harry's question.

"I'll be leaving for the train station before you are awake tomorrow, so feel free to wander. Meet me back here at five."

"Sounds like a plan, Josef. Sleep well."

The two wished each other good night, and Harry settled down to sleep in the undecorated second bedroom. The performance had pumped plenty of adrenaline back into his veins, but eventually he fell asleep, dreaming of the next night. In his dreams, the crowd was chanting his name as he performed the best rock solo of all time, his knees down on the ground and the guitar lifted above his head, fingers flying on the strings.

"Harry Headbanger! Harry Headbanger! Harry Headbanger!"

But when he looked out at the hordes of fans clamoring for his attention, Harry didn't see any of them. Instead, a spotlight shone down on a special guest, who was bouncing up and down and waving to him on the stage. Her pride was obvious, as she tilted her head and let a huge smile break out on her face. She began cheering his name, her voice smothering those around her. Harry felt his heart swell, because he could perform to crowds of ten, ten thousand, or ten million, but the size of the audience would never matter if she was in it.

In his sleep, a look of contentment was on Harry's face. Dreaming of Donna made everything in the world wonderful, because while she was far away, that was temporary.

"I'll be there soon," he murmured.


	12. Why Did It Have to Be Me?

"Harry Headbanger, in his final performance!"

The bar's many patrons cheered. The night before, it hadn't been more than perhaps twenty individuals, most of them friends of Josef or his brother. But apparently, Josef's slight joke had spread quite far through the city, as the bar was packed to the brim. Outside, there were apparently people waiting to get in to see the supposedly famous British musician they had heard all about. It had gotten to the point that somebody even offered up an electric guitar to borrow, so that his sound could be amplified. It was as if all of Prague had turned out to see them.

They had played several Beatles tunes, from "Hey Jude" to a "Hard Day's Night." Dominika had challenged Harry to learn a few lyrics in Czech, which got wild approval from the crowds. Harry refused to steal the show, often interrupting Josef's song introduction to promote Tomas' drum solos and Josef's singing. It was wonderful to have made a group of friends; while Josef had been at the train station, he had gotten to wander the city with Dominika and Tomas, and appreciated their company greatly. In fact, they had let him go on about Donna for nearly a full hour before threatening to deport him. That was twice as long as Josef had lasted.

While none of them were fans of punk rock, they had even humored his attempts to fuse it into the performance. One, a song Harry had heard in a pub once, did get the audience's approval, all about how you fill the hole in your soul with rock and roll. Harry thought it nonsensical, but figured that if it was endorsed by a supposed friend of Paul McCartney's, they would enjoy anything. It helped that Josef and his friends were amazing musicians.

"And for my final performance, I'll be performing a song taught to me by somebody very dear to me, Donna Sheridan."

The crowd laughed shouting out, "Again?"

Harry blushed. Maybe he had dedicated one too many songs to Donna. But this one, she had told him all about performing with her friends, the Dynamos. And after telling Josef, Dominika, and Tomas about it during rehearsal, they had all clamored to perform it.

"It's called...it's called Super Trouper."

" _Super trouper beams are gonna blind me_

 _But I won't feel blue,_

 _Like I always do._

' _Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you."_

The crowd continued to cheer as Harry stepped forward to the microphone, stomping the ground as Tomas counted them in to start.

"Jeden! Dva! Jeden, dva, tři, čtyři!"

"One! Two! One, two, three, four!"

Harry felt so alive during the performance, hearing his name chanted just like in the dream. While the glory was shared among all the band members, he was definitely asked for his share of autographs after the show. He was almost tempted to stay with Josef and his friends, and pursue being a musician. But every time he sang the lyrics about looking into the crowd, he still couldn't erase the image of Donna cheering for him. He owed it to himself to finish one adventure before starting another. Upon finishing the song, Harry wrapped his arm around Josef's shoulder and bowed, before gesturing to Dominika and Tomas. The crowd erupted in applause only to be silenced by Josef's brother, who was trying to push them all out. It was nearly an hour past closing but he had allowed it, as it had been his best night in ages.

"Harry Headbanger, we cannot convince you to stay?"

"I'm afraid not, sorry. My train does leave today."

They all thanked him for coming, giving him brief and short goodbyes on the condition that he would write once he was home in London, and possibly visit again.

"You lot will have to come and visit me on your world tour," Harry told the band. "And don't laugh, because I'd buy every ticket to that show."

The next morning, Josef woke Harry and dragged him to the train station, despite being half asleep.

"I thought my train wasn't until noon. Why the need to get me here so early?"

"Could you forgive yourself if you missed it again, like an idiot?"

"Fair enough."

He made the same promises to Josef to keep in touch before boarding his train. The ride was the least eventful part of his journey, likely because he barely let himself blink until they were in Bulgaria. Once there, he was able to get a quick dinner before boarding an overnight train to Volos, where he would be able to catch a ferry to his final destination. As he boarded, he turned to the conductor.

"Volos is the final stop, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"So if I fall asleep, I won't miss my stop?"

"I can guarantee it."

"You can?"

The conductor glared at him, clearly annoyed at the repeated questioning. Harry thanked him and continued into the cabin. Rereading Donna's letter as he faded off to sleep.

"I certainly went on an adventure for you," he murmured, tracing her letters with his finger.

The guitar rested against his leg, but he didn't dare play it at a time like this, when it was starting to get dark and nearly all the other occupants of the train were asleep. Instead, Harry let sleep wash over him, eager to see Donna in his dreams again. And maybe, if he was lucky, he wouldn't have to wait another night to see her.

When Harry woke up, he immediately looked out the window. As much as the train conductor had told him that Volos was the last stop, and it was impossible to miss, fate had shown him many tricks over the course of that week. Luckily, the train was still moving, and he could see signs up ahead in Greek.

 _At least I'm in the right country,_ he thought, _that's half the battle._

It was hard to believe that what had started as a spontaneous train ride across the continent had turned into a multi-day extravaganza. One desperate decision he had made Sunday night landed him in a Czech folk rock group on Tuesday, in Greece on Thursday, and would get him back to the same place he'd been on Saturday nearly a week later- with Donna.

 _I wonder what she's doing right now,_ Harry considered.

Maybe she was running through fields, looking out on the beautiful vista the island had to offer. It was the island of Aphrodite, hadn't she said something like that? Then again, it was relatively early to be out and about, so perhaps she was eating a breakfast of freshly-picked fruit. He hoped that she'd made some wonderful friends as well.

Upon arriving in Volos, Harry followed the signs to the dock he was given by one of the employees at the train station. He was jogging through the streets, with the guitar and his bag strapped to his back. Still wearing his leather jacket, Harry began to feel the heat, but something inside made him feel it was necessary to dress like he had in Paris. He couldn't help but begin to worry that Donna wouldn't recognize him, but he knew that he needed to calm his nerves down. He was so close to her again, and he wouldn't let his stupid nerves get in the way.

At the end of the alley, he saw a ferry on a dock. Racing towards the ticket booth, Harry nearly dropped all of his belongings trying to pull out his passport and wallet. People around jumped out of his way, causing Harry to just shout apologies as he continued towards the boat. Nearly careening into the stand, Harry excitedly spoke to the man inside.

"Hello, one ticket to Kalokairi, please."

"Identification, please."

The man looked at Harry expectantly. His expression had a bit of a mocking tendency, and Harry was reminded of Josef by his charming dark eyes. Appearance-wise, however, the man was very Greek, with no hair on his head and a handsome black beard. Harry pushed his passport across the desk, glancing over at the ferry. It seemed to be filling up, and very few people were boarding.

Accepting the passport, the man opened it and looked over it at a painfully slow rate.

"Please, I need to make this ferry. There's someone very special I need to see on the island, you see. She left a note….a very nice note."

"Your hair."

"What?"

"Your hair is longer here," the man said, pointing at the picture in Harry's passport.

"Yes, I had to cut it for the bank- please, I need to make this ferry."

"I liked it better longer," he remarked, before stamping the passport and giving Harry a ticket.

"Thanks," Harry said as he grabbed the ticket and started to turn to the ferry. "Hold the ferry! Please, hold the ferry!"

He could hear the man say something as he walked away, but Harry was too busy trying to catch the ferry. Unfortunately, the two men on board pulled the ropes from the dock and were already several feet away from the dock. Harry considered making the leap but hesitated for far too long. He walked to the edge of the dock, resting his belongings on the ground as he watched the boat disappear in the distance. He had come all this way, only to miss his final ship.

"Don't look so sad. You're just like that architect that was coming through here this morning, moping all about. He sat at the dock for hours telling us all about how she wouldn't take him back, but he had to try, and blah blah blah-"

Harry looked back at the man in the booth, who was smiling as he spoke.

"Why shouldn't I be upset? That was my last chance to get to Kalokairi."

"There will be another ferry tomorrow. But if you don't want to go to Kalokairi, I'm finished with work in a few hours. We could get drinks-"

"What time is the ferry tomorrow?"

"Every day, at ten in the morning."

"And my ticket will work then?"

"Yes. So about those drinks-"

"Sorry, I can't."

Harry grabbed all of his things and walked away from the dock. He'd have to get a room for the night and then tomorrow, definitely, he'd be able to get to Kalokairi. As frustrating as it was to miss what was apparently the only ferry of the day, it was reassuring that Donna wouldn't be able to leave before the next day, right?

Looking back over the blue sea separating him from Donna, Harry mused about his own destiny that brought him here. She was such an easy woman to fall in love with, but she had left his life just as quickly as she had arrived in it.

"Why did it have to be me?"

He shook off the negative thought. He didn't care why it was him, he only appreciated the luck that it was him. He couldn't resist her and even if they weren't destined to end up together forever, he felt that his life could never be the way it had been before they'd met.

"Here I go again," Harry laughed, retiring to his hotel room. Soon, he'd see Donna, and the whole week would be worth it.


	13. Kalokairi

Harry walked back and forth across the dock, muttering under his breath.

"Long time no see, Sheridan!" He shook his head and tried to start again. "Thanks for taking my virginity! I think I'm in love with you."

 _Real smooth. Just think about how fast you'll get her to run in the opposite direction!_

So focused on getting to Greece, Harry was now realizing he had no idea what to do once he was on the island. Since Harry had arrived an hour early (maybe two hours early, if he was being honest) for his ferry, the fishermen and dock workers had suffered his awkward, nervous presence. The customs officer in the booth had tried to offer advice at one point, but Harry preferred working himself up over minor issues rather than take practical advice from an outside perspective.

If he was going to figure out what to say, he was running out of time to do so. Harry's fist tightened around his ticket as he walked towards the edge of the dock, where the ferry was approaching.

 _Maybe I shouldn't plan anything at all,_ he consoled himself. _Spontaneity is the true language of love._

Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to silence his own thoughts and began listening to people around him. The customs officer was checking passports and selling tickets- Harry wasn't entirely sure why there was a customs officer in the middle of Greece, especially for a ferry to such a small island- there was an attractive blond sailor with a Swedish accent telling one of the locals that he was visiting his aunt before embarking on some round-the-world travel, there were two fishermen arguing in Greek. Harry focused in on each voice, thinking about how easy it was for them to speak.

 _No hesitation. Just complete confidence in one's opinion and beliefs. That's what I need._

Two men hopped off the ferry and tied it to the dock.

"All aboard."

Harry took a few hesitant steps forward. This was his last chance to give up. What if Donna wasn't even there? What if she was and she didn't want to see him? What if she was and she didn't even remember him?

 _It doesn't matter,_ he realized. _But I need to know. Or I'll regret it the rest of my life._

In his first confident motion of the day, Harry strode across the threshold of the ship and settled onto one of the benches. His nervous excitement had him sitting at the very edge of his seat. Around him, other passengers filed in, carrying an assortment of bags and baskets, but Harry barely noticed, if he was being honest. He was too busy looking out at the sparkling blue water, pondering on whether it might be faster to swim to the island. He'd do it if he thought that he'd get there a second sooner but perhaps not this time. Additionally, he had no way of keeping Donna's note dry during such a swim.

 _She might recognize me better if I'm soaked._

The men called for final passengers as they began to pull back the ropes. There was no going back now, he was going to Kalokairi. Sure, he had strangely been sidetracked for several days, as though fate had intervened to make it so.

 _Maybe we both needed a week apart to have adventures to talk about,_ he considered. _What's the saying? Distance makes the heart grow fonder. I wonder what she's been up to._

In the distance, Harry could see an island emerging on the horizon. With each meter the ferry traveled, it became clearer. First, the hilly outlines. Then, the dark green trees that traced the slopes stood out sharply against the white sandy beaches. Popping up at the edges of the island were white buildings with red roofs and as they came even closer, people all over, running between buildings, on the beach, and on the dock that was rapidly approaching. Harry knew that they were still relatively far away, but he kept his eyes peeled for that bright blond hair that had been on his mind constantly for nearly a week.

The sea was calm with few waves, quite the opposite of what he was feeling inside. It was only a few minutes until he'd be on the dock, and he wasn't sure how long after that he'd find Donna, but it wasn't soon enough.

Then it happened. One of the dockhands reached out to grab the rope and pull the ferry in. The man's tanned, roughened hands twisted the stern line around the moor and simultaneously, Harry's stomach tied itself in knots. Along with the other passengers, Harry was shepherded off the boat onto the wooden dock. Stumbling out of the stream to lean on a post at the end of the dock, Harry took in the island where he would reunite with Donna. She certainly hadn't exaggerated Kalokairi's beauty and there was a certain magic to the air that Harry couldn't place.

 _I made it._

Wandering through a small market, Harry found himself in what he assumed was the center of the village on the island. Locals were bustling around him shouting in Greek, with phrases here and there in English. But Harry was on a mission to find Donna and he didn't allow himself to linger. His bright green shoes padded against the stones on the street, making a steady beat as he traced every alleyway and passed through every building. Every so often, somebody would attempt to speak to him but Harry would brush them off. The Greek man offering to sell him fish, a dark-haired American woman and her friend offering to buy him a slice of cake, the band setting up for their performance and calling for an audience. They were all just a distraction.

As the sky began to grow darker, Harry found himself back by the dock for the third time, still without having seen Donna. He hadn't explored every inch of the island, per say, but he had come damn near close (save jumping off the cliffs and deep sea diving). Maybe he had guessed incorrectly, and Donna hadn't come to Kalokairi after all. Just because she had mentioned it offhand in one conversation to somebody who was practically a stranger didn't mean she would actually go there!

 _Even if she was, she said she wanted to go there eventually. She might not even be here for another five years. Another ten years. Another twenty. I might be twenty years too early._

The excitement that had fueled him throughout the day began to drain, leaving his soul filled with a heavy disappointment and dread. He should have just stayed in Paris and lived out his lonely life. Now not only was he alone, but he was alone on the supposed island of love on the edge of the world.

Resolving himself to failure, Harry returned to the center of town. It was far too late to consider trying to charter a ride back to the mainland and he'd have to stay the night on Kalokairi.

 _I suppose I should call my father,_ he laughed, pitying himself. _David Bright will certainly get a kick out of this._

Regardless of how dejected he felt, Harry couldn't build up the will to call his father he had brushed off so confidently only a few days before. Not without some help, anyhow. Harry glanced at the buildings around him before settling on the best solution- Sofia's Taverna.

It was a small, family-owned bar, with a live band playing and a respectable amount of patrons milling about. Harry thought they were quite good, even though the woman who was serving him something called ouzo kept insulting the group, especially the lead singer. After hearing her refer to him as her son, Harry figured it was best to stay out of that conversation.

 _I hope Donna eventually finds a place like this,_ Harry thought, downing his glass.

As it went down his throat, Harry regretted the decision slightly. Sure, getting a bit tipsy would make it easier to talk to his father, but he knew he also had a tendency to talk excessively under its tempting influence. And tonight, he could almost guarantee that every word out of his mouth was going to be related to Donna. He didn't need to make his loss public to the entirety of this Greek island. Paying the woman, who he assumed was Sofia, Harry asked where he could find the nearest payphone and a place to stay for the night.

She answered both questions with one gesture down the street towards a phone booth and the hotel behind it. Giving a brief thanks, Harry wandered out the door, searching his pockets for change. He wasn't tipsy enough to stumble but was at the point where rehearsing the speech to his father didn't make him pass out from anxiety. Where courage failed, alcohol would triumph.

 _Another late night call,_ Harry giggled. _Whatever will my father do with me?_

The coins clinked loudly as he dropped them into their proper slots. Dialing his father's number, Harry began rehearsing the short speech he would give.

 _Yes, I made a rash decision but I thought, as my father, you'd like to know I am on my way back to Paris. I was merely taking advantage of the opportunity to learn about international currency._

It was best to leave Donna out of the explanation entirely. Honestly, he had no idea what his father's reaction would be anyways. There was every possibility that his father, who had mocked Harry for several years about his inability to woo a girl and being a coward around women, given his nonexistent love life, might have felt relief knowing that he had the capability to fall in love with a woman. At the same time, it was unlikely David Bright would be pleased that the first woman his son fell in love with was a wild and adventurous American that inspired him to do something like hop on a train and follow her to Greece. As the dial tone rang, Harry rested his head against the glass. He was praying that his father would pick up; he could already feel the alcohol starting to wear off and he needed to talk to his father before he was completely sober.

Harry glanced out the side of the phone booth and felt his heart skip a beat.

 _It can't be._

There, with her hands in the pockets of her denim shorts was the loveliest woman that Harry had ever seen. She was looking wistfully up at the stars, her head tilted slightly to the side. Her smile...no, she wasn't quite smiling. It was a melancholy expression, with a slight upturn of the corners of her lips, as if she was laughing at a joke only she could understand. Her sun-kissed hair was pulled back in a low ponytail that was swept over one of her shoulders. It was her.

Harry felt the phone drop from his hands, the cord snapping it back before it hit the ground. If David Bright had picked up on the other side, he was met with only silence. As if some great force of the universe controlled him like a marionette, Harry's feet led him away from the phone into the center of the street. She hadn't noticed him yet, facing away towards the water.

He dutifully lifted his luggage and the guitar, which he'd left resting outside of the phone booth. Harry was less than ten meters away from her now but he was as quiet as a mouse. He didn't want to disturb her in her moment of reflection but he could already feel her name forming on the tip of her tongue. He fought a valiant battle, trying not to speak, trying to force his voice back down his throat. But he lost.

"Donna!" he blurted out, his voice echoing off the stone buildings around them.

Her head whipped in his direction and she stared at him, flabbergasted.

"Harry?"


	14. Reunited

"Harry?!"

As Donna repeated his name, her voice cut sharply through the air. This time, it was a bit more fraught and panicked than her first exclamation. It wasn't in a way that suggested aggression, but it also didn't seem to be hinting of any joy either.

 _What have I done?_

Harry's legs felt like jelly as his widened brown eyes stared directly into Donna's equally dark eyes. Sure, he had never had an actual plan of what to do in this situation. But whatever this was? It was certainly far from ever being considered anything close to "according to plan." Unsure of how to proceed, Harry nervously gripped his belongings. When he opened his mouth to reply, he found that, unfortunately for him, every single word in the English language instantly fled from his mind.

"Donna!"

The affection in his voice was evident as his voice went slightly up at the end of her name, nearly to the point of cracking (although thank god it didn't- the day had already been embarrassing enough). Half-heartedly trying to smile as he spoke, Harry was using all of his willpower not to run as far away as possible. It could definitely be said that he didn't handle tense situations well. Donna still was staring at Harry as though he were a ghost. Harry suddenly remembered himself and thrust out the guitar towards Donna.

"I...I brought you this!"

Donna still didn't move. Harry's panic continued to rise to new levels he never thought possible.

 _She must think I'm crazy. She probably thinks I'm some homicidal stalker who's come to finish her off._

"Harry."

This time, her voice was very flat, as though she were repeating a foreign words she couldn't quite wrap her head around.

"That's my name, try not to wear it out," Harry's voice attempted to remain light as he ventured a joke.

"What are you doing here?"

Donna shifted her body towards him but didn't take a step forward.

"I…I needed to…..bring you the guitar!"

Instinctively, Harry wanted to confess all of his feelings. How he had been willing to sail off the ends of the earth if it meant he could see her one more time. How the absence of her presence had haunted his every waking moment for the past week. How sleep had been his only escape because it meant that she would be there in his dreams. But a more rational part of his mind became extremely aware that unveiling his complex and desperate emotional state would only complicate this situation further.

Before Donna could respond, Harry blurted out an apology.

"I'm sorry if I've surprised you, I really didn't mean to run into you...like this," Harry said gesturing to the dark night and empty street. Attempting to ease the tension again, he continued, "If you'd like to call the police, I suppose I'd let you by to the phone, but I'd really prefer you didn't."

The tension broke as Donna let out a breathy laugh and shook her head. Stepping towards him, she gave a slight smile of disbelief still confused by his sudden appearance.

"They probably wouldn't understand my Greek anyways."

Harry's expression broke out into a silly grin as he remarked, "It's good to see you again."

"I suppose it's good to see you again too, Harry."

After a few more awkward exchanges, in which Harry returned the guitar to Donna and inquired after how she was enjoying the island, the two had fallen back into their friendly pattern, much to Harry's delight. She was just like he remembered, although a bit sadder if he was going to be honest.

 _Maybe she missed me as much as I missed her,_ he dared to hope.

"Look, Harry, I'd love to catch up, but could you give me just a second? I have to talk to Sofia at the taverna-"

"Absolutely. Whatever you need to do," Harry reassured her.

Donna thanked him and made a quick stop into the taverna. He could catch a glimpse of her through the window talking to the woman behind the bar who smiled as Donna said something. After a few minutes, Donna came back out and grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him the opposite way down the street.

"I told Tanya and Rosie I'd be back tonight," Donna explained quickly, "so I figured I should let Sofia know I'm busy if they go looking for me."

"Tanya and Rosie, those are your Dynamos, right?"

"I forgot I told you about the Dynamos. You have a good memory."

 _How could I forget anything you told me?_

Harry just smiled instead of replying. Donna rambled on for a while about how beautiful the island was and how wonderful all the locals were. She even showed him a pearl that she had apparently found while diving that very afternoon.

"I'm glad it lived up to your expectations. You've really fallen in love with the place haven't you?"

There was no hint of dishonesty in Harry's comment; he truly was happy for her. Donna was clearly in her element on the island- in fact, it was hard to imagine her being anywhere else, even back in Paris. Looking away from Donna as he took in the bright stars in the sky, Harry missed her flinch at the word "love."

"And you, Harry, what adventures have you been on since we last met?" Donna replied, not answering his question.

Harry didn't notice her casual dodging and related everything that had happened to him: the midnight dash through Paris, ending up in the wrong country, accidentally passing off as a rockstar in a Czech bar, arriving in Greece only to miss the last ferry.

"You missed the ferry, after all that?" Donna couldn't help but giggle as Harry's arms waved wildly explaining his frantic journey.

"Yes! There's apparently only one ferry on Thursdays!"

"You know what the French would call that?"

"What?"

"A Tra-jeudi!"

They both broke into laughter, almost tumbling down the rest of the dirt path they were walking on. Donna pulled the guitar away from him, joking that if he were going to fall, he wasn't going to break the guitar in the process.

"Alas, you are walking with quite a clumsy man," Harry turned his face away dramatically, "woe is me."

"Alright, Shakespeare, just sit down." Donna pulled him through a gap in the trees to a gorgeous secluded beach. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Absolutely," Harry responded, dropping his bag on the sand and sitting down next to it. Now that they were further away from the town, the darkness seemed almost total, but Harry's eyes adjusted quickly.

The sand was still slightly warm from a day basking in the sun, and Harry copied Donna's example as she took off her shoes and buried her toes. For a few moments, neither spoke, both looking out across the water and up at the stars. Donna was the first to interrupt.

"Harry, are you afraid of growing old?"

"I'm more afraid of growing boring," Harry admitted. "I don't think age has anything to do with that."

"You don't fear slowly dying all alone, year after year?"

"That's a bit morbid don't you think?" Harry asked before continuing, "Although, yes, I suppose I do."

"I think I've been reckless this summer, but sometimes, I wonder if it's my last. So I have to make the best of it, right?"

"Maybe it's best if we don't think about if it will be our last summer or not."

"If it was, it's been a good last summer."

As she said this, Donna rested her head on Harry's shoulder and curled into him. There wasn't much break in their discussion over the next few hours, as they continued expressing their feelings about the world and the future. At one point, Donna mentioned something about the last week changing her view on life.

"I don't know, sometimes I feel like I jump into something too quickly and let the current carry me away, you know?"

"I thought you were all about spontaneity," Harry replied, "but maybe it's a good sign feeling a bit carried away. It means you tried something."

Harry and Donna looked at each other and it was the first moment of silence in quite a while.

 _It's now or never,_ Harry thought to himself.

He began to lean in, taking in every detail of Donna's face before he gently closed his eyes and kissed her.


	15. Together Again

Just as quickly, Donna pulled away. Harry, caught off guard, continued tumbling forward, barely avoiding face-planting into the sand.

Unfortunately, what stopped him from hitting the ground was falling directly into Donna's lap. Harry rested for a split second, attempting to regain his bearings, before realizing that Donna was frozen underneath him. He practically vaulted himself in the opposite direction, falling not-so-smoothly back onto his hands so he was facing Donna. She appeared to have not moved aside from the initial pulling back from the kiss, but now looked at him with a look that suggested concern and sympathy.

Harry cringed as he looked back at her and opened his mouth slightly to speak. Pausing for a moment, Harry tried to think of what to say after such a complete and utter failure. Donna broke the tension first.

"Harry, I-"

It wasn't right to force her to be the one to speak after that, Harry felt, and he immediately jumped in.

"Oh my god, Donna, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

The corner of Donna's mouth turned up in a way that suggested instinct rather than precise action, and her eyes took on a familiar sparkle that told Harry to relax.

"And why not?"

Harry wanted to tease back, but he was in uncertain ground. She hadn't wanted him to kiss her, right? What did this mean?

"I…um...because I should have asked first. Not just jumped on you like that."

"Well, you are quite the gentleman I remember, Harry."

Harry muttered a quiet thanks and looked back out at the water. He could feel his cheeks growing redder and he hoped that Donna didn't notice.

 _These really are uncharted waters_ , Harry thought. _She didn't run away, but she also didn't kiss me back. Am I supposed to just keep sitting here?_

As if she could read his mind, Donna interrupted Harry's thoughts with a few plucks of the guitar strings. He slowly turned his head to look back over, but Donna was looking out at the water rather than at him. Her fingers were feeling around for the familiar notes, and once she landed on them, she began to play.

Harry knew the song, but when she began singing, he felt a bit of surprise.

" _I've been so lucky, I am the girl with golden hair,_

 _I wanna sing it out to everybody._

 _What a joy, what a life, what a chance!"_

" _So I say…."_

At this point she turned to him and gave a slight nod, and Harry joined back in for the chorus of the song he had introduced to her.

" _Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing_

 _Thanks for all the joy they're bringing_

 _Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty_

 _What would life be?_

 _Without a song or a dance what are we?_

 _So I say thank you for the music_

 _For giving it to me."_

Donna played out the final notes and laid the guitar flat on her lap.

"What do you think?" She asked, looking at Harry expectantly.

"You've added a new verse."

"I hope you don't mind, the song was so beautiful that I thought I could use it-"

"I love it."

Harry offered a warm smile, looking at the girl with golden hair in front of him. She returned the smile and slid over the guitar.

"Your turn."

"What?"

"I said, your turn. I play, then you play. Isn't that the agreement we worked out in Paris?"

"We aren't in Paris."

"I don't think that was dictated in the agreement."

It was clear that this was an argument Harry wasn't going to win. He offered his surrender and took the guitar.

"You know, I don't think I could be upset with you for taking my song when I played yours without any royalties."

"And which one was that?"

"Super Trouper. I don't think I did it quite right, but it was in a Czech bar where they were convinced I was a celebrity, so I don't think it mattered much."

"That sounds like an adventure," Donna giggled. "Are you sure you're Harry Bright?"

Harry still felt a bit stupid about the kiss, and he wasn't sure what exactly he and Donna were. But he finally began feeling comfortable enough to joke around again.

"Oh, I'm absolutely confident I'm not."

He confidently set the guitar into position and hit a strong opening chord.

"I'm Harry fuckin' Headbanger."

Donna laughed, cheering him on as he played one of the songs that Josef had taught him in Prague, and even through the rendition of her own song. Not that Harry didn't make Donna take a few turns too- it was only fair. Although, perhaps it was a bit selfish, given how much joy it brought him to hear her singing.

Several hours passed, just the two of them, sitting in the dark and sharing their songs. He wanted to tell her how much he loved being there with her, but after the kiss, he felt that it was better just to wait. She'd broach that subject when she was ready to.

It was in the very early hours of the morning when Donna suggested it was time for her to go. She said something about how her friends were visiting, and she had promised she'd be back before sunrise.

"I would offer you a place to stay, but I think my commandeered farmhouse is filled to the brim," Donna said with an apologetic smile.

"I think I might just stay here for the night. Sleep out under the stars."

"Well, I won't stop you from that. But if you need shelter, Sofia at the taverna should be able to help you out."

Harry nodded in appreciation, but felt confident that the skies would remain clear. Donna continued speaking to him, now resting the guitar on the sand between them.

"Harry, how long are you going to be here?"

Harry hesitated before responding, "I'm not sure. I haven't really thought that part through."

Donna paused, taking in his answer.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Harry."

"Have a nice night, Donna."

He watched as she stood up to leave. He offered her the guitar to take with her, but she insisted he keep it until the next day saying that she didn't want to risk breaking it while making the hike back. She disappeared into the night, and Harry laid back on the sand, looking up at the stars. He could hear the waves crashing on the shore nearby, and felt nature slowly rock him to sleep. He didn't know what the next day would bring, or the day after that, but if Donna was there, it would be alright.


	16. The Dynamos

When Harry woke up, he realized why he appreciated sleeping in a bed so much. Sand was comfortable of course, but after sleeping on it, it was noticeably less soft. Slipped into his leather jacket, it was a bit coarse, rough, and irritating. And it really did get everywhere.

None of this could dampen his mood though. The previous night was better than any dream his mind could have imagined. And Donna had suggested they'd see each other again today!

Harry looked through his bag to see what was left from his haphazard journey. He had a bit of money, from cashing in his cheques, but he'd likely have to wire to London for money for a train ticket back home. Whenever he went back home, he supposed.

He'd never willingly tell his father, but Harry had technically completed his degree the previous spring. He already had all the qualification to work in the bank; the only classes he was signed up for in the fall were excess. He just wanted to enjoy being an independent student for a bit longer, so he had fibbed to his father that he couldn't graduate until December, at the earliest, perhaps even next May.

But the future? It was all in flux now. He hadn't considered what would happen after he found the love of his life. Was he supposed to follow her as she traveled around the world? Stay frozen in Kalokairi until he figured out what she wanted? Go home and deal with the chaos that he had created with his father?

He shook his head to ignore the intrusive thoughts.

 _I'll deal with all of that later. For now, it's about Donna and Kalokairi._

Harry ruffled through his clothing, realizing that he had only one clean outfit left. After spending the past week in his bag, it was quite wrinkled, and Harry regretted not getting a hotel room the previous night. It wasn't as though he usually pressed his outfits- besides those he wore to the bank- but Harry cared very much for how he looked. Not that there was anything that could be done about that now, he figured. Reluctantly, he changed his jeans in the shelter of a few trees before pulling off his shirt. Stretching his arms to try and get some of the stiffness of sleep out of them, Harry froze when he suddenly heard a whistle behind him.

"Again, what kind of an island is this?"

Harry spun around and reflexively covered his bare chest with his arms. The dark-haired woman he presumed spoke, with what sounded like an American accent, was standing at the end of the beach wearing a bright green floral dress and dark sunglasses. Next to her was a shorter woman with closely-cropped hair, wearing a jean jacket and skirt, doubled over in laughter.

Mortified, Harry tried to back away into the trees, but the American woman continued to approach. She practically sauntered, keeping one hand on her hip and swaying slightly, like a tiger hunting its prey.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, please excuse me," Harry squealed as he slid into his black tee-shirt, trying to maintain his modesty. "I have to go."

"Where do you think you're going, stranger?" the woman replied, looking over the top of her sunglasses at Harry.

Her voice dropped slightly as she was coming within speaking range of Harry, and he could have sworn she gave a slight growl as she said "stranger." Whatever it was, something sent a shiver down his spine.

"I…..I…" Harry stuttered, unsure of what to say. Fortunately, the second woman had stopped laughing long enough to catch up with her friend and interrupt the conversation.

"Oi, Tanya, he's British! She didn't say he was British. I feel like I should at least get first call on my own countrymen if I'm not able to get dibs on Swedes," the other woman whispered loudly to her friend, whose name was apparently Tanya. Harry would have guessed the shorter woman was from the West Midlands, given her accent, but definitely English.

 _What does she mean by first call? And who would have told them I was here?_

"I admire your patriotism, Rosie. But not all of us want to close our eyes and think of England," Tanya said, winking at Harry as she did so.

It was much too early to be dealing with a situation like this. Especially when they had come upon him half-dressed. He needed to get out of here.

Harry stuttered looking for a response. Luckily, another voice interrupted him from someone approaching down the wooded path.

"Tanya! Rosie! Don't run ahead!"

She appeared from between the trees to see Harry backed up against a tree with Tanya and Rosie standing right next to him, smiling devilishly back at her. Donna sped over to catch up and smiled apologetically at Harry.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I suggested that I come find you for breakfast and my friends got a bit carried away. They really love…." Donna searched for an end to her sentence.

"Meeting new people," Tanya offered, raising her eyebrows as she looked Harry up and down. Harry slid out from around the tree and walked closer to Donna.

"So, these are your friends?" Harry asked Donna, still eyeing Tanya and Rosie who seemed to find the entire situation laughable.

"Yes, this is Rosie Mulligan," Donna said gesturing to the shorter British woman. "And as she's probably already introduced herself, this is Tanya Chesham-Leigh. The Dynamos."

Tanya and Rosie struck a pose, hitting their hips together and pointing exuberantly into the air. Harry could see why Donna enjoyed spending time with them, and they definitely seemed like kindred spirits. But he couldn't help but want to climb up a tree and hide until they left.

"And Donna, who is this mysterious gentleman you've apparently been hiding from us? You go on a boat with one and come back-"

"Tanya!" Donna squealed. Tanya immediately stopped speaking and just winked at Donna.

"I'm Harry Bright," Harry ventured.

"He's a friend of mine," Donna explained. "We met last night when I stopped by Sofia's taverna. After getting back from the boat trip." She glared at Tanya with daggers in her eyes. Tanya didn't seem to notice.

"Yes, and I have to say I'm a big fan of the Dynamos. Donna told me all about you-"

"Last night. I told him I'm a musician when I saw him with the guitar. We met last night." Donna gave Harry a look that was clearly pleading with him to go along. He wasn't sure why they couldn't have met earlier, but figured Donna had her reasons.

"Yes, she promised she'd tell me more over breakfast today. I hope I'm not interrupting a girls day out or anything."

"Don't worry, we're here all month," Tanya replied. "And we're used to Donna running off on a spontaneous adventure. You should have seen everything she got into at Oxford."

"Yes, like the time she stole that-" Rosie was interrupted by another exasperated sigh from Donna. "I suppose I can wait until after breakfast to tell you that one."

"Can we just go back into town?" Donna asked, practically begging her friends and Harry to join her. In fact, she was already halfway up the path by the time she finished the question.

"Coming!" Tanya and Rosie stepped after her. Donna, who was wearing a blouse and overalls, had no problem hopping over the rocks in her white sandals, and neither did Rosie, who wore a vest, brown trousers, and boots. Tanya, however, seemed to struggle a bit more in her green sundress and expensive-looking heels.

"Please, allow me," Harry offered, stepping forward to offer his arm to Tanya.

"Oh, Donna, you really know how to find them," she called up ahead. Wrapping her arm around Harry's, Tanya continued to question him about his background.

"So Harry, you're a professional musician?"

"Well, not really. I'm supposed to be a banker, I don't suppose Donna's mentioned that?"

"It didn't come up. So, London banker? That must make you quite a big earner."

"It's not so bad, I suppose. I'm studying in Paris now, so I haven't actually started yet."

 _Why is she asking about banking? How did I even end up in this situation?_

Tanya practically purred as she responded, "Well, enchantée, Harry Bright."

Harry looked forward to see Donna smiling apologetically at him. Her hair was practically glittering in the sun as she reached the top of the hill and was waiting for them to catch up. It was the least he could do to try and get to know her friends a bit better.

"En...Enchantée, Tanya."


	17. Breakfast at the Taverna

"I'm sorry, I really can't."

Harry shook his head as Tanya ordered a second martini for him.

"Miss Chesham-Leigh, it's much too early for a second-"

"It's a 2 for 1 special, Mr. Bright, you simply must partake. It's only economical. Although I'm sure a financially savvy man like you knows that."

"Yes, of course but-"

"Oh, Tanya, give it a rest," Donna interrupted. "Go easy on Harry."

Harry offered a quick smile before trying to convince Tanya, who had taken on a sarcastic pout, that he would be happy to have a second martini if the baklava that Rosie had ordered for the table dictated a second drink. This announcement inspired a round of cheers from his tablemates, and eventually, the second round was ordered.

"Y'know, whenever I drink a martini, I feel just like 007," Rosie said as she picked up her drink.

"Which James Bond?" Harry asked.

Before Rosie could respond, Donna and Tanya chorused, "Sean Connery" in the most ridiculous Scottish accents, before breaking down laughing.

"Well, I don't talk about him that much," Rosie defended herself. "And the new men are quite good too. I just love the adventurous spirit of Bond, a man whose wild and can't be held down."

Harry broke back into the conversation, offering his own opinion.

"I believe Sean Connery was quite good, but I'm partial to Roger Moore."

Harry continued, "Quite a handsome chap, don't you think?"

"Because that's exactly what James Bond should be," he quickly rambled on, seeing Tanya raise an eyebrow at his interjection. "Shaken, not stirred."

As Harry began to take a sip, Donna grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Why don't we give a toast?"

Harry nodded, raising his glass up with hers at the center of the table. Two more joined as Rosie and Tanya waited for Donna to continue.

"What are we toasting to?" Harry asked, looking at Donna expectantly.

"To….friendship," Donna announced, confidently. "Both old…" she continued, looking towards Rosie and Tanya. "And new."

Donna offered a warm, but gentle, smile towards Harry. He was tempted to speak, but was interrupted as the girls shouted "Cheers!" Absentmindedly, Harry drank his martini amidst the chatter of the girls discussing their plans for the day. Rather than participating in the discussion, Harry felt his entire focus captured by Donna Sheridan.

He'd been thinking all morning about what he'd do to bring Donna back with him. They could live in Paris and walk along the Seine every morning, or even go back to London. After all, she had lived there to go to school. He'd even be willing to indulge in international travel, for true love - although, he needed to wait before visiting Prague again.

However, removing Donna from Kalokairi seemed wrong, somehow. He couldn't put his finger on it, but she belonged here, among the sandy beaches and forested hills. To buy her a ticket home was the equivalent of throwing paint on the Mona Lisa, in Harry's opinion. How could he rationalize these two ideas? His desire to bring Donna home with him and his belief that the best place for Donna was Kalokairi. An easy solution might be to stay, but Harry somehow felt like that wasn't going to work either. It certainly was a sticky business.

"Harry Bright, are you even listening to me?"

Tanya's voice broke through Harry's stupor. He sat up with a start, realizing he had been staring blankly towards where Donna had been sitting for the past several minutes. Fortunately, Donna had gone to talk to somebody at another table in the meantime, and nobody had noticed his slight obsession.

"No, I'm sorry, I was quite distracted just now."

"Oh, has somebody caught your eye, Harry? A pair of fine eyes?" Tanya whispered teasingly, causing Harry to blush.

"What? No, no, I was just thinking about what I should do for the day."

"Well, I don't know about the day, but I know at least one thing you should do tonight."

Harry's eyes widened and he attempted to lean slightly further away from Tanya. She was certainly the most confident person he had ever met, and that was admirable. At the same time, it felt like a betrayal of Donna to even consider the scenarios Tanya's tone of voice had implied.

"Tanya, Rosie! Sofia said that she can get us on the island boat tour I promised you yesterday."

"Before you ran off and did a tour of your own, of course," Rosie mumbled, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, I'm already calling in my favors and I've only been here for a week. Last three seats, for free. Take it or leave it, girls."

Donna held up three short paper tickets with red ink reading the date and time of their boat tour. The girls stood up to grab their tickets and began a chant.

"Dynamos! Dynamite! Work all day and" - the girls wound up their hips and pushed into a circle together - "WABOOM all night!"

They collapsed into laughter, settling back into their seats at the table. Harry cleared his throat, and awkwardly interrupted their celebration.

"It's been lovely to meet you all, but I think I'd better be off. You wouldn't want to miss your tour, and I know a thing or two about missing boats," he laughed, before realizing that out of context, nothing he said was particularly funny. "Anyhow, I'll cover breakfast. Where do I pay?"

Sofia, the woman standing behind the bar cleaning glasses, stopped what she was doing and looked accusingly at Donna.

"I thought you said the boy was a musician. He is performing with you tonight, no?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes, Harry, remember I mentioned it earlier?"

Donna spoke urgently, never breaking eye contact with Harry. He took it as a "I'll explain it to you later" look, and willingly went along.

"Right, must have slipped the mind. My apologies."

"Men! So busy thinking about one thing all the time that they forget everything going on around them," Sofia threw her hands up in the air, laughing, as she continued her work.

"What's the one thing?" Harry inquired, genuinely curious.

Sofia turned to Harry with a sly smile and raised her eyebrows.

"Sex," she replied, as if she was stating an obvious fact.

Before Harry could say anything, Donna, Rosie, and Tanya burst out laughing and were joined by Sofia. His cheeks began to turn a brilliant shade of red and Harry reached up to put a hand on the back of his neck, looking away from everyone else.

"Fair enough then," he said quietly, hoping the moment would end as quickly as possible.

Once the laughter faded away, Harry sped towards the door, reminding Sofia that he would, indeed, return later that day to perform in exchange for her gracious offer of food.

"Harry, wait!"

Donna's voice called out behind him like that of a siren, and Harry had no choice but to stop in his tracks and turn around.

"Donna, I-"

"Let's talk outside," Donna interrupted before calling back to Tanya and Rosie that she'd be ready to go to the tour in just a minute.

Not waiting for Harry's response, Donna grabbed his arm and pulled him out the door onto the sidewalk.

"Look, I'm sorry I volunteered you to perform. I felt really guilty calling in favors when I've worked here for a week, and after you turned up, I felt like I needed to justify it to Sofia and-"

"I really don't mind. I'm happy to do it for you."

 _I'm happy to do anything for you_ , he secretly thought to himself.

"You're so sweet and understanding, Harry. I'm lucky that you did turn up out of the blue."

"I suppose. Well, you should probably go off to your friends…." Harry hesitated.

He was getting such mixed signals from Donna about his presence- she wanted to perform with him, but seemed to go out of her way to get tickets exclusively for her and her friends for a boat tour that would take her as far away as possible without really leaving the island.

"I know, we need to talk. After the show, alright? We'll talk then."

"Any recommendations of what I should do today?"

"Just explore! Let me know what you find, this may be a little island, but there's so much to see." 

Harry shrugged, agreeing he'd take her advice. The day would drag on, he expected, now that he knew an evening conversation with Donna Sheridan was ahead of him.

Donna gave him a brief hug before pulling away and stepping back into the taverna. Before closing the door, she looked over her shoulder to see him standing and watching her go. Her smile dropped a little as she was clearly deep in thought about whatever their conversation would entail.

Harry tried to offer a smile back, but Donna had already reached Rosie and Tanya and her attention was no longer on him. Now by himself, Harry thrust his hands in his pockets and walked down the street.

"Harry Headbanger takes on the little island," he wondered aloud, "another solo performance."


	18. The Church

After Donna had departed, Harry was left wandering the island. Surprisingly, he didn't mind doing so; his explorations the previous day had been so focused on finding Donna that he had barely taken in the beauty of Kalokairi.

With his hands in his pockets, Harry strolled down a side road, kicking a rock as he did so. More dribbling it, really. He was never much a fan of football, but he had played it enough at school to get the hang of it. With a swift kick, however, the rock went off to the side and tumbled down a small hill. Game over.

Looking up, Harry scanned the horizon for somewhere to go. Suddenly, a pretty little white building on the opposite side peeked through the trees. He had noticed it coming in, a small steepled building nestled into a rocky hill, but with a set of stairs leading to it.

 _It seemed pretty hard to get to,_ Harry considered. _But I've got all the time in the world._

All the time in the world, until he had to perform at that show tonight, that is. Harry took a few steps towards a dark-haired woman resting in the shade.

"Er...excuse me, miss?"

She looked up, but gave no verbal response - only a slight raise of her eyebrows and turn of her chin that suggested she was waiting for him to continue.

"Yes, well, I was wondering if you knew the path to that white building up on the hill in the distance there. It seems like a nice walk for a day like today."

"The white building? You mean the church?"

"Oh, yes, the church," Harry nodded. "How do I get there?"

She stood and pointed towards an entrance in the woods, giving him a list of directions as she did so.

"You see that path? You walk it until you reach the water, then follow the cobblestones. That will take you there."

Harry offered a quick thanks, and jogged over to the path. There were roots scattered about, so he slowed down as he entered and just enjoyed being there in the moment. The trees blocked the direct sunlight, but a warm glow filtered through the branches and the air was fresh and warm.

Brushing back his hair, Harry took in the scene around him. The path was clearly well-tread, which he supposed made sense given that it took him to the church. But it didn't seem like anyone else was around today.

 _What day is it anyways?_

Harry had trouble remembering for a minute or two, and tried to count through all the days he had been traveling. Had he left Paris a week ago? Or was it a week tomorrow? Maybe it was Saturday. Yes, that had to be it, it was Saturday. Or maybe today was Sunday? If it was Sunday wouldn't everyone be going to the church?

With a shake of his head, he dismissed the intrusive thoughts. Time didn't matter on the little island. A small, brownish-red bird soared down between the trees, causing Harry to duck out of the way. In the process of doing so, he nearly threw himself down the very steep hillside. Luckily, his hand had grabbed onto a nearby branch just in time.

"Guess I should be more careful," Harry said aloud, to no one in particular. Straightening himself up, Harry continued walking along the path until he came to a stone landing.

The view from the landing was, in a word, magnificent. At the very edge was a short gray and white stone wall, where he sat down. Out on the water, small sailing ships bounced on the waves. For a split second, the thought of Donna and her friends on one of the boats crossed his mind, but the idea was cast away just as quickly. He couldn't help it - the glint of the sun on the water desired his full attention.

It was rare that Harry Bright took even a second to sit back and appreciate the world around him.

 _I spent months in Paris,_ he thought to himself, _and didn't bother taking anything in until the day I met Donna._

But today, Donna wasn't with him. Was it her presence in his life that allowed him to see more?

 _Or is it me?_ Harry considered.

He was much happier, and even though he missed Donna, he was entertaining himself well enough. Harry took a deep breath in, feeling the warm air fill his lungs.

"Guess it's time to keep moving," Harry remarked, standing once more and continuing on his path. It seemed he had already done the easy part of his walk; up ahead, there was practically a mountain of stairs - it must have been at least a quarter mile up.

 _At least the view is pretty_.

Humming as he walked up the stairs, Harry began composing a song in his mind to sing that night at the taverna. The music just came to him, in a place as beautiful as this.

"I've seen you twice….in a short time," he sang to a brief rhythm. "Only a week since we started. But it seems to me, for every time, I'm getting more open-hearted."

He couldn't help but smile, even if there was uncertainty behind his grin. He certainly was happy here on his little vacation. Sounding out a few more verses, Harry felt like skipping every other step in his joy.

Finally, Harry reached the top of the stairs, and walked into the church. It wasn't overwhelmingly impressive, but it felt important.

There were a dozen or so pews on either side, and at the end of the aisle was an altar - it was a typical church, but the feeling he had was anything but typical. Not that Harry was a religious man. In fact, it had been ages since he'd been to a service.

Taking a seat in the back pew, Harry checked to see if anyone was around, but didn't see anyone. Somehow, getting arrested for trespassing didn't seem like the best thing to do when you were in the middle of nowhere without any money. Then again, it was a church - could you even trespass in a church?

Resigning himself to whatever fate awaited him for his minor criminal transgression, Harry began thinking about his future. On the island, with Donna, and even just with his life.

"When you know, you're supposed to know," he mused.

But he felt like he knew nothing. There were so many questions left unanswered, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. He rattled through his mind trying to think of what he was certain about.

"I'm Harry Bright. I'm 24 years old. I'm from London."

His voice echoed slightly - enough to notice, but not enough to feel as though the place was haunted.

 _Well, that's a good start, I suppose._

"I lo-" Harry hesitated, continuing, "have very strong feelings for Donna Sheridan. We met in Paris. I followed her to Greece."

 _And that's that._

Harry rose, thinking that was time enough spent on deep thoughts. Boding on one's emotions for too long never led to any good. He just needed to be spontaneous, within reason of course. Plus, he had promised Donna that he'd perform in the taverna tonight. And Harry Bright wasn't a man to break his promise.

As he stepped across the threshold of the church, Harry took a second to glance back. Part of him felt like he could come back after a lifetime and not a speck of dust would have moved, but another part of him felt like his life would never be the same after this moment. It was such a strange sensation, to be both everywhere and nowhere.

Harry shook his head again. He'd been thinking too deep again, and that wasn't to be tolerated. Throwing his head back in a short laugh, Harry jogged back down the stairs towards the path. It was time to get ready for a show.


	19. Conversations

When Harry arrived back in town, he walked straight to the taverna. It occurred to him that he hadn't made any specific plans with Donna besides meeting up to perform that night - he couldn't even remember if she had specified a time. However, that friend of hers, Sofia, might have an idea.

There were a few men eating in the taverna, leaning over the tables and engaging in quiet conversation. Harry could overhear a joke here, a laugh here, but he wasn't one to eavesdrop. He saw the woman from earlier, Sofia, standing near the edge of the bar drying off some glasses, and approached her.

"Hello, do you have a moment to speak?"

"About what?"

Her accent wasn't just thick with her Greek heritage, but with clear annoyance at the British boy interrupting her.

"I'm…..Donna's friend, from earlier. She forgot to tell me what time I was supposed to be back here, and I thought you might be able to help."

Sofia paused and looked at him, and Harry felt himself stiffen. Her look wasn't judgemental as a stranger, but more like a mother. It was the same sort of look the woman had worn while speaking to Donna, albeit not as friendly and lacking any sense of admiration.

"The girls will be back in a half hour, give or take. What is your name, again?"

"Harry."

"Listen here. _Harry_ ," Sofia continued, placing heavy emphasis on his name. "I don't know why you are here on this island, but if you hurt so much as a single hair on that precious girl's head-"

"I would never," Harry jumped in, worried that Sofia had gotten the wrong impression. "I swear, on my life."

"I know that," Sofia chuckled. "But her heart has broken already, and I don't want to see her heart broken all over again."

Harry was a bit confused as to how Donna could have been heartbroken over him, but she apparently hadn't mentioned him by name to Sofia.

"Donna told me all about the island when I saw her last in Paris, and I suppose I thought I might enjoy a nice trip, that's all. A spontaneous holiday. I have to go make a call now. I'll be back."

Harry didn't actually have to make a call, but he could forgive himself for this small lie. Staying in the bar with Sofia seemed like an interrogation, and he didn't need this stranger trying to dig out ulterior motives that he wasn't even sure about.

But now that he was out here, he figured he might as well make the call he had been avoiding for days - his father. The last communication they had was when he'd dropped the phone upon seeing Donna the other night, but he wasn't sure if his father had even picked up.

That left his call in the middle of the night in Paris, about a week ago. There was hell that had to be paid at some point.

 _Not calling now is just delaying the inevitable_ , Harry considered. As if a devil had popped up on his shoulder, another voice whispered, _but the longer you delay the inevitable, the more time you get to spend with Donna._

After spending a few minutes arguing between these two opinions, Harry came to a conclusion - _Why not?_

Walking towards the payphone, Harry dropped in a few coins, hearing a satisfying clink as they hit their respective tones. Dialing his father's number, he could already feel the dread building up.

With bated breath, Harry heard the other end pick up, and his father's deep voice come crackling through.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad. It's Harry."

"The prodigal son, himself. At least you've picked a decent hour to call this time."

"I'm sorry about that."

"Sorry about what? The call in the middle of the night, or the complete lack of explanation for your vacation?"

"Both, I suppose."

"You could have told me, you know."

Harry paused, confused at the direction his father had taken. At the start, his father had been a bit annoyed, but now he seemed almost teasing, and Harry had no idea what he was talking about.

Before Harry could respond, his father answered his questions for him.

"It makes sense you'd want a quick trip after completing your degree, Harry! I just wish you had told me, would have saved me the trouble of calling the school!"

"You called my school?" Harry asked, worried about where the conversation was going.

"You disappeared off the face of the earth, and I'll admit, I was a bit pissed off. So I called the school, planning to rescind your payment for the next semester and force you to come back here, when they informed me you'd actually finished your degree!"

 _My life is over_ , Harry mourned internally.

"I technically finished my degree, but-"

Harry was again interrupted by his father.

"Son, I know you're such a hard worker. Your French probably isn't up to snuff, and you probably were staying for that, but it doesn't matter! I've got the perfect job for you, here at the bank!"

"Oh," was all Harry could respond. He was crushed. He had called practically expecting to be disowned, but instead, his father was excitedly drafting out his future.

"It's in America, isn't that where you wanted to go, Harry?"

"America?"

"Yes, yes, you'll assist our office there for a few years, and eventually, maybe lead the North American division. Of course, in the long run, you'll end up back in London, but that's years away."

"When would I have to start?"

"You enjoy your well-deserved holiday, Harry. But try to be back soon, I can't have you galavanting across some beach forever."

"Dad, I-"

"Look, I have to go Harry. I'll talk to you soon. Call me when you're on your way back."

His father hung up before Harry could even say whether or not he wanted the job. Harry refused to just resign himself to this fate, he needed time to think. Tonight, he'd be performing on a stage with the first woman he'd ever fallen in love with. Maybe that's all he ever wanted to do.

It was quite a decision ahead of him - stay here and try to win over Donna, the only woman he might ever love and who was apparently heartbroken over him, or go become the very person he had sworn never to be.

"Yoohoo! Harry!"

Rosie's voice rang out behind him, dragging Harry out of his moral dilemma.

Turning around, Harry saw Rosie and Tanya holding his guitar.

"We stopped by the beach, hoping to see you again, Mr. Bright," Tanya purred. "But it appears you're fully-dressed this time."

Crossing his arms, Harry walked towards them.

"It appears so. Where's Donna?"

"That's all every man wants to know," Rosie groaned, looking over at Tanya.

"She's inside, tiger," Tanya laughed, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him inside.

 _I guess it's showtime._


	20. Returning to the Stage

Stumbling through the front door of the taverna, Harry took in the sheer number of people crowded around tables and at the bar. It was definitely, undeniably, a fire hazard.

 _Is there even a fire brigade on this island? What happens in the case of an emergency?_

Harry had seen children earlier in the day, running down the streets, but did they go to school? Imagine trying to raise a child on an island where there's only one ferry a day!

 _It's so unlike London, so unlike New York -_

Tanya yanked Harry out of his internal monologue and into another horde of people.

"We have to go to the dressing rooms, Rosie and I aren't ready for the performance."

"There's dressing rooms?"

"That's what we're going to call it, it's actually a storage room," Rosie interrupted.

Suddenly, Tanya pulled Harry through an open door in the wall into what was difficult to refer to as even a storage room.

 _I cannot believe I traveled all the way to Greece to get trapped in a closet._

Delicately stepping over several pairs of high-heeled boots, Harry attempted to balance himself against a wall, only to slip on a red feather boa. Whacking his head on a shelf, Harry was only stopped from falling when Tanya grabbed him around the waist to provide support.

"Already falling into my arms, Mr. Bright. That's a bit earlier in the night than I expected."

Laughing nervously, Harry tried to stand again, only to realize there wasn't much space in the closet - backstage - as he'd first thought. With Rosie in here, trying to pick up another feather boa - _how many are in here, my god_ \- and Tanya crammed behind him, there was hardly any space to breathe.

"Where's Donna?"

Rosie stood up, feather boa in hand.

"She's in our actual dressing room. Our entourage doesn't typically include men, but we've apparently made an exception for tonight."

"But I need to speak with Donna, before the performance."

"Not until you're dressed, you won't."

"Dressed? I'm already dr-"

Before he could continue, Tanya and Rosie began picking up articles of clothing from around the room. At least, they looked like clothing - it was a massacre of feathers and sequins as far as Harry was concerned.

"Now hold on, hold on, I'm already perfectly dressed to perform. You said you don't have men's clothing anyway," Harry pushed away a sparkling jacket Rosie was trying to hand to him. "I'm more of a Sid Vicious than an Elton John."

"We improvised," Tanya replied with a shrug. "Anyhow, you're not Sid Vicious tonight. You are an honorary Dynamo."

Without waiting for a response, Rosie and Tanya made their way out of the closet, telling Harry it was ten minutes to showtime.

"Better hurry up, Mr. Bright. Or we'll have to come help you dress," Tanya winked.

Once the door was shut, Harry ruffled through the potential articles of clothing, hoping to minimize his embarrassment. A light blue shirt - it might have been a woman's dress, if inspected closely - fit fairly well and wasn't too ostentatious.

 _I wish there was a mirror in here, I must look absolutely ridiculous_ , Harry thought, trying to slip on a pair of matching light blue pants with a large star on the hip. The pants were a bit small and tight, but Harry managed to slip them on and secure the waist with a silver belt. He tried to imagine why the Dynamos would have clothing near his size - for the height, Tanya probably made sense. Then again, these clothes were the exact same color as a set of drapes he had seen earlier in the day. It was possible these had been made for him, but he wasn't quite sure.

A knock on the door brought Harry back to attention, with an unrecognizable voice shouting, "5 minutes!"

Shoes….he knew he had some black shoes in his bag, as his sneakers certainly didn't go with what he was already wearing. Slipping them on, he tried to look down to get a better idea of the look he was going for. With a blue feather boa added, Harry tried to tease his hair to make himself look a bit cooler.

 _I don't even know what song I'm performing, do I? I'm not ready to perform at all!_

Harry's worry didn't last long; the door opened to reveal Rosie in a striped orange top and navy blue jeans with a scattered pattern of stars. Completing the ensemble were platform heels, practically bringing the shorter woman to his height.

"Do you like it? It's from my graduation, Tanya came up with the whole outfit idea, I swear, she's meant to be some famous fashion designer. She'll be richer than any man she might end up with, honest to -"

"I like it, I really do. But can I speak to Donna now?"

"But you're our opening act! You have to go up now!"

Harry glanced out the door, hesitating before he walked into the taverna. People sat at every table, cheering as Sofia stood on the stage saying something in Greek. Harry's Greek was far worse than his French, and he didn't get much out of it except "Dynamos" and "Harry Headbanger."

"That's me," he said to nobody in particular.

Rosie, who assumed he was speaking to her, responded by shoving his guitar into his hands and urging him to go up on stage.

"Start it hot, Harry, really light up the place!"

Slowly stepping up the stairs on the right side of the stage, Harry's eyes met Sofia's. In them, he read one simple message: _Don't fuck this up._

A few short steps to the microphone, and Harry looked out at the now silent and expectant audience. It was just like when he performed with Josef - not a single person in this audience knew who he was, and chances were, he'd never see them again. Although, he wasn't sure if he could get away with the Beatles references this time.

But Harry wasn't sure what song to perform - anything from a rock or punk band seemed out of place in the homey little taverna, and the accompanying artists waiting off-stage certainly didn't have the instruments of either genre: a bass, pianist, drummer, and accordion player. Suddenly, he glimpsed a flash of blonde hair hidden around a corner and realized there was somebody in the audience to sing to.

Tapping on the microphone, Harry winced at the slight feedback.

"Uh...hi, everybody, thank you so much for coming out tonight."

Waiting for a response proved futile, and Harry tugged at his collar before continuing, "My name is Harry, and...I'm going to sing a song I wrote about um...my time living in Paris."

Taking a deep breath, he began strumming his guitar, trying to pick up a strong rhythm, before singing what had been caught in his head during his entire train ride to Greece.

" _My my_

 _At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender"_

Harry took a deep breath, repeating his earlier rhythm.

" _Oh yeah!_

 _And I have met my destiny in quite a similar way…._

 _The history book on the shelf_

 _Is always repeating itself."_

While he was holding out the last note, Harry heard the other musicians beginning to chime in, adding life to his improvised love song. More confidently, Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and belted, " _Waterloo!"_

" _I was defeated, you won the war_

 _Waterloo, promise to love you forever more_

 _Waterloo, couldn't escape if I wanted to_

 _Waterloo, knowing my fate is to be with you_

 _Waterloo! Finally facing my Waterloo."_

Now, the accordion player was next to him, and she leaned into the microphone to shout, " _My, my!"_

Harry smiled, and treated his refrain as a call and response.

" _I tried to hold you back, but you were stronger,"_ he offered.

" _Oh yeah,"_ the band shouted, prompting Harry to continue.

" _And now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight_

 _And how could I ever refuse_

 _I feel like I win when I lose."_

Suddenly, Donna, Tanya and Rosie marched onto the stage, wearing matching orange striped ensembles and feather boas, not to mention their sparkling heeled shoes. Harry almost forgot where he was, seeing how glorious Donna looked in her element.

"Everyone, Donna and the Dynamos!"

A cheer rang throughout the room. Harry wasn't surprised that in such a short time on the island, Donna and her friends had already endeared themselves to every resident. Now, they repeated his chorus to keep the song going.

" _Waterloo! I was defeated, you won the war_

 _Waterloo, promise to love you forever more_

 _Waterloo, couldn't escape if I wanted to_

 _Waterloo, knowing my fate is to be with you_

 _Oh, oh Waterloo, finally facing my Waterloo."_

In turn, Harry twirled each of the Dynamos around the stage, still strumming his guitar at full force. He couldn't help but laugh, with all the fun he was having during the performance.

" _So how could I ever refuse_

 _I feel like I win when I lose_

 _Waterloo couldn't escape if I wanted to_

 _Waterloo knowing my fate is to be with you_

 _Waterloo finally facing my Waterloo_

 _Waterloo knowing my fate is to be with you"_

Harry joined Donna at the microphone, and looking deep into her eyes, sang from the heart,

" _Oh, oh Waterloo finally facing my Waterloo_

 _Waterloo knowing my fate is to be with you."_

Performing as a Dynamo, Harry felt as though electricity was coursing through his veins. By the end of the first song, the audience was on their feet, clapping along to the beat. A few couples had even started dancing in the narrow aisles between the tables, and the crowd streamed out the door onto the street.

Despite being the opening act, Harry accepted no credit. He marvelled at the way Donna engaged with every person in front of her, or how Tanya performed to the very back of the room, and how Rosie provided more support than seemed possible for one performer. Donna and the Dynamos were truly something to behold, and he was happy to just be along for the ride.

Thanking the crowd once more, Donna swung into "Super Trouper," with Harry providing a deeper background. She might not have looked back when she pointed to the audience about "someone in the crowd," but Harry was sure she was singing directly to him.

Over the next few hours - although Harry could have gone all night long - Donna and the Dynamos rocked the small taverna on the island of Kalokairi. Harry tried to stick to accompaniment, but the Dynamo leading a particular song would pull him in for a duet. While Rosie and Tanya were undeniably spectacular, it felt so natural and magical when Donna coaxed him back to the microphone.

Harry felt a particularly warm glow in his heart when Donna announced a final song. The taverna audience had thinned, as the islanders returned home to rest before the next day. But those who remained eagerly applauded the opening notes to "Thank You For the Music."

 _My song, she's singing my song,_ he thought. _She's thanking me for the music._

A final strum of the guitar, Harry bowed, and the band helped Sofia clear the taverna after a successful night. Tanya and Rosie carried a few mugs each back to the kitchen, where Harry was rinsing all the dishes in the sink. He still hadn't spoken to Donna, who was currently talking to Sofia about possibly performing again the next night, from the few words he could hear.

"So Tanya," Harry cleared his throat. "What are you doing now?"

Glancing towards a tall, broad-shouldered man who had been sitting near the front of the audience, Tanya purred, "Hopefully him."

Coughing awkwardly, Harry was grateful when Tanya spoke to Rosie next.

"It looks like he has a friend, Rosie. There's no better way to get over that Swedish guy than to get under a Greek guy."

"You're terrible, you really are," Rosie gave Tanya a shocked look, before breaking down into laughter.

Hesitant to leave an awkward silence, Harry offered, "I don't know any Swedes or any Greeks, but I think nobody could handle either of you. No man is worthy of a Dynamo."

"You're right Harry, nobody deserves us. But I think Tanya's right, I won't remember Bill in 20 years, and I don't need to," Rosie joked. "But I do deserve the freedom of Kalokairi."

"What is it Donna said? It's the island of Aphrodite?" Tanya winked at Harry, adding, "Enjoy your night, Mr. Bright. Let Donna know we'll either be back in the morning or in ten minutes."

The confident Dynamos approached the men, but Harry was too focused on Donna to eavesdrop on the conversation.

 _Should I tell her about the new job? Should I stay here to be with her?_

Donna hugged Sofia, thanking her for whatever they had agreed upon. With a slight smile, she walked up to Harry.

"You were amazing, Donna, really, absolutely amazing."

"I should be saying the same to you, Harry Headbanger."

Harry rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, a move he immediately regretted, given how his hand was still dripping wet from washing the dishes. Drying his hands off, Harry looked down away from Donna before her hand joined his. Looking up, he felt as though he was drowning in her eyes.

Donna asked, "Do you want to go for a walk?"

"That sounds lovely," Harry smiled. "As long as it's with you."


	21. Take a Chance

The cool air of the night picked up into a slight breeze by the time Harry and Donna made it down to the secluded little beach where Harry had spent the previous night. It seemed like he had been on this island for an eternity, maybe longer. If there was something longer than eternity. But it had to end somehow, and he hadn't made that decision.

"Harry," Donna started, her voice lilting like his name was the start of a song. "I'm really happy you came to Kalokairi."

"I'm happy too." The words tumbled out of Harry's mouth at such a speed, as to suggest that being trapped another second of his mind would be absolute torture.

"Although I guess your mind is still in France, isn't it?"

Donna winked, but Harry wasn't entirely sure why. Whatever insinuation she was trying to make was completely going over his head. Usually, Harry just nodded along whenever he didn't understand something, but he really couldn't just let Donna's witticisms slide by, and he allowed his face to scrunch up in confusion.

"Still in France?" He held out the 'a' in France a bit longer than recommended, as though the word was unfamiliar on his tongue.

"Your song. About Waterloo."

 _Of course, you idiot, she's talking about the song. The song you just sang about her, in front of a giant audience. The goddamn love song you dedicated to the girl sitting right next to you._

"Oh." That was all Harry could manage as he berated himself in his own mind.

Later, Harry reflected he probably should have turned that moment into a sweeping romantic gesture. A moment which would be worthy of a 300-page romantic novel with some shirtless actor on the front, riding on a horse. But at the time, nothing of the sort occurred to Harry. Instead, he stared with due diligence directly at the ocean in front of him, willing his cheeks to not turn red.

"I think I'd move to Paris just to eat at that café every morning. At least you'll get to do that next year at school, right?"

"I'm actually done with school now."

"Oh." Donna's voice was softer now, less sure than it had been before.

"My dad called, he wants me to start working at the bank. Not even in London or Paris, but in the United States."

"And are you going to?"

"I don't know."

 _Do you want me to? Or will you tell me to stay?_

Harry was surprised when Donna slid closer to him, resting their joined hands on her lap.

"You know, Harry, we have a lot in common."

For the first time since sitting down on the beach, Harry tilted his head to look at Donna. Even in the dark, he could see a glint in her eyes and her soft smile.

"I'm afraid I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"We're both afraid of flying."

He couldn't help but laugh, causing Donna to frown. Immediately, he attempted to backtrack his instinctual response.

"Sorry, I just…..I can't imagine anybody would describe you, of all people, as afraid of flying. You're the strongest person I've ever met. Just think about it, you graduated college and immediately travelled on your own to the edge of the world, only for everybody on this island to fall madly in love with you and your band."

Harry's voice tripped up slightly when he said the l-word, but he couldn't tell if Donna noticed. He wasn't sure if he was against her noticing.

"I don't know if I'm strong or just reckless, Harry. I mean that we're both so concerned about the future. Every morning, I wake up worried that I won't get to make these amazing memories and I'll just be an old woman in a nursing home who regrets everything she didn't do."

"Maybe that's okay."

"What do you mean that's okay? To have a life filled with regrets? Aren't you afraid to be the old man living in a nursing home in London, feeling like you never lived a day in your life?"

Harry's hand tightened around Donna's, and he took a deep breath as he thought over his response.

"If I could pinpoint just a few moments in my life where I was willing to risk it all for a second of happiness, I think I'd be satisfied."

"I guess I like the idea of just taking a chance. Maybe not every day, but just enough to keep us going."

"I guess we are a lot alike, then."

Donna laughed, but a breathless, exhausted laugh. Rather than reacting to a joke, she just agreed with Harry, and seemed amused by the futility of even trying to comprehend the magnitude of the world around them.

"Then what do we do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Harry, if somebody told you that this moment, the one we're in right now, would be your last, what would you do with it?"

Time slowed to a halt as Harry looked deep into Donna's sparkling eyes. He knew exactly what he would do with this moment.

Harry slowly raised his other hand to cup the side of Donna's face and pulled her closer to him

"May I?" He tried to make his voice low, but his nervousness crept through, causing his speech to slightly waver where his heart never would.

"Take a chance, Harry."

So he did. Harry kissed Donna like it was his first and last kiss that he would ever had. Paris, after all, seemed like a lifetime ago. Even last night, when she had shied away from his affections, that was a different world. Tonight, her lips were soft and her breath was light and sweet.

To his joy, Donna embraced him, pushing him down on the sand as they continued kissing. Greedily, Harry began running his hands anywhere he could reach - through her golden hair, down her neck, and around her waist. Donna was a bit more daring, as always. Harry could feel her fingers dancing across his stomach and at the edge of his waistband.

Every sensation grew stronger. The quiet waves lapping at the edge of the beach. The salty air, drifting towards him. The way Donna's shirt felt as it slipped through his fingers. The pain where Donna bit his lip before moving down to his neck, or the chill in the air as he kicked away the ridiculous jumpsuit he was still wearing. When he rolled Donna onto her back, climbed down her body and tasted … dot dot dot.

If Harry had been in a nursing home decades later, he would have been able to describe every second of this night to a stranger. Of course, for modesty's sake, he would have left a few details out. There was no need, after all, for a stranger to know that after completing the deed once or twice on the sand, Harry had suggested a quick swim, only furthering the evening's events. But he did take his chance on the beach, and pushed away the scary thoughts of what would be tomorrow.

Eventually, the moment had to end, but not quite yet. Not when Harry was lying on his back on the sandy beach on the island of Aphrodite, his lover's head resting on his chest. Donna's arm stretched lazily over him, her legs wrapped up with his as she faded off to sleep. Harry fell asleep not too long after, bringing the moment to an end, but just a beginning to his story.

Unpleasantly, the sun interrupted the pair's slumber quite early. However, given their remarkable lack of clothing on an only partially-secluded beach, perhaps it was for the best that Harry and Donna were up at dawn.

"Morning." Harry's voice whined as he tried to stretch without disturbing Donna too much.

For her part, Donna was a bit more awake and rolled onto her side. Grabbing at a few pieces of clothing, she covered herself up and tossed the rest to Harry.

"Good morning."

Harry glanced down, and realizing he had nothing on, began to blush.

"Now, Mr. Bright, no need to be so shy. You flew like an eagle last night, no reason to hide it in the day."

"I'm not sure the flying metaphor translates as well in the morning as it did last night. Good try, though."

Laughing, Donna pushed Harry back down to the sand. It seemed as though she was about to kiss him when she suddenly sat back up.

"Oh god," she started. "Tanya and Rosie are probably thinking the worst things of me right now."

"Considering they left the taverna with the two Greek men and said they would see you in the morning, I'd think not."

"Right, right," Donna said awkwardly.

"And why would they think the worst of you? I didn't think I was that bad of a catch," he tried to lighten the mood.

"No, no, of course not. It's just that I haven't really been around any night of their visit, I guess I'm a bad host. I mean, every night I….I just get so caught up in doing something else that I just disappear until breakfast!"

"Or someone else," Harry flirted as he leaned in to kiss Donna on the cheek.

"Woah, boy," Donna laughed again, wrapping her arms around Harry's shoulders.

They held each other for a few moments before Harry cleared his throat.

"Listen, Donna…"

"You should go."

"What?"

"To New York."

"New York, right. Why are you bringing this up?"

"It sounds like a real adventure, Harry, and you were telling me about all those rock bands you wanted to see in the States. Trust me, the country isn't that bad. Or wasn't the last time I was there. You wouldn't regret going, I know it."

"Oh, I thought…"

"What?" Donna looked at Harry, a bit sadder than he thought she should. He was still confused at the turn in their conversation.

"Donna, I love you."

"Oh, Harry."

He tried to avoid looking crestfallen, but Donna caught on too quickly for him to hide it.

"Harry, I think I could love you, someday. But right now, I don't want to be in love with anyone. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Harry replied, trying to untangle himself from Donna and get off the beach as soon as possible.

"Listen, Harry." He paused, knowing whatever Donna would say next would stick in his mind forever, because this was another moment he would think about.

"I can't wait to think about you when I'm old and gray, and sitting in that nursing home on the other side of the world."

"Donna Sheridan, you will always have a place in my heart and in my memory. Write me a letter, when you're in that nursing home, because maybe I'll come visit."

"We could really live up that final moment, couldn't we?"

"If I didn't break a hip, I would carry you all the way back to this beach if necessary."

The two joked around a bit longer, before finally realizing the moment had passed. A part of Harry knew that he would be grieving his first love for days, weeks, and possibly months to come, but he also knew that he would always appreciate how their meeting had ended. They dressed, he walked her back to the taverna to retrieve his belongings, and he bought a ticket for the ferry back to the mainland.

Donna walked him all the way to the dock, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. A strange melancholy hung between them, neither willing to end the goodbye.

"Give my best to Tanya and Rosie."

"They'll have it Harry."

The ferryman made a final call, looking to his obvious final passenger to board.

"Here, take the guitar. I'll pick it up when I get back. I bought it for you anyway."

Donna finally accepted the gift, pulling the strap around her.

"And I wasn't joking about that letter, you know. I expect one before I'm six feet under."

"Until the next time, Harry Headbanger."

"Until then."

Harry rode the ferry back. He found his train, and eventually made it back to London without losing his way too dramatically. He even penned a letter to Josef, his friend from Prague, about his experience in Greece - leaving out, of course, the most intimate details of his visit. But he might have played up his romantic nature on the beach, ignoring the more awkward aspects of his personality.

Not a month later, he was settling into his apartment in New York City. During the day, he might have had to wear a suit and tie to work at the bank, but at night, he always took a chance - playing gigs with his band, or attending rock concerts so loud he knew he might go deaf. When he took his wildest risks, that was when he thought of the golden-haired girl he loved on the faraway island.

 _At least I'll have something to tell her when I see her again._


	22. Part II: A Saturday in London

LONDON 1999

"Oh, bugger."

The harsh sunlight streamed in through the mistakenly curtain-free window, landing directly in the face of the room's formerly-sleeping tenant. Harry always woke up early, but this was five minutes before his alarm was supposed to go off. Encouraged by his exclamation, Lucy and Kipper bolted into the bedroom at warp speed to request their breakfast.

Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed, willing to sacrifice the extra few minutes of sleep the Saturday may have afforded him. The little black terriers kept running in front of him as he hazarded a few steps towards the door. He loved the dogs, but did they realize he needed to be able to walk to the kitchen if they wanted their food?

"Down, girls, down! Let….me…through!"

The dogs did nothing except bark, making Harry feel as though they were laughing at his demands for peace. It was a battle he had been fighting ever since he adopted the dogs, but he supposed it was a battle he had no chance of winning.

Harry knew exactly what the day ahead of him would hold. He also knew pretty much everything tomorrow, and the day after that would hold as well. The previous twenty years had been neither kind nor unkind to Harry. In many ways, the years had just _been_. For eight years, he lived in New York, but rarely, if ever, let caution fly to the wind. He attended all those rock concerts he had dreamed about, and even dabbled in his own performances on occasion, but spent more and more time in his office at the bank. There were the moments he might remember when he was old and grey, but the rest of it was just life.

Banking didn't bring him joy, but he would be remiss if he didn't admit that he was quite good at his job. Of course, he would never admit to his father that he was satisfied with his work life. Eventually, Harry did return to London, but on his own accord. A position opened up in another department and he chose to apply. It wasn't an impulsive move, but the culmination of months of thoughts, discussions, and plans. A few promotions later, Harry was now a vice-president at the bank. That wasn't his full title, but it would do for anyone not fully invested in what the bank did. Frankly, the title would do for Harry.

This Saturday had no reason to be different from any other Saturday. After feeding Lucy and Kipper, he shuffled back to his bedroom to get dressed. The rocker-wear of his earlier days long gone, suits dominated his closet and drawers. But since it was Saturday, and he knew that he didn't need to go by the office, he would dress casually - a white collared shirt and ironed slacks, along with a smart pair of loafers.

Whistling, Harry picked up the dog leashes from the counter by the door and linked them to the dogs' collars before pulling open his front door. Lucy and Kipper bounded down the steps, but Harry managed to lock the door behind him before following them onto the street. The route, as always, led them a few kilometers to St. James Park. He watched the ducks for a while, as the dogs rested on the lawn.

On the return trip, Harry visited a few essential stores - the pharmacy, the grocer, and a certain bakery which always had his favorite mini treacle tart. This tart had served as the dessert to every Saturday dinner for several years, if he put in the effort to think back. It was a routine Harry was comfortable with, and was happy to continue.

A few hours after he had left, Harry arrived back at his front door. The dogs were tuckered out, so he let them across the threshold to go lie down in the sitting room. He picked up his mail, and placed it unread on the counter for several minutes. On Saturday afternoons, he needed to make his tea before he went through whatever bills and correspondence he had received.

 _Earl Grey? Redbush? Oh, certainly not chai._

Harry ultimately chose the Redbush, adding one cube of sugar and a dash of cream, because things could never be too sweet. Out of the cupboard, he pulled a few digestives, before heading to the sitting room to join his dogs. Kicking his feet up, Harry leaned into his sofa and began rifling through the pile of envelopes.

"Bill...advertisement…..a coupon for dog food, that's good…"

One envelope certainly looked out of place. The address was handwritten rather than typed, and the postage certainly wasn't local. On rare occasions, he might receive a letter from his old friend Josef, but he lived in the United States now. In fact, helping Josef move into an apartment in Chicago had been Harry's last true vacation, probably about six years ago. Who really kept track these days? The letter had been sent all the way from Greece, and the return address hinted at a very familiar island he hadn't considered in quite a long time.

 _It's not possible._

It could be a letter Harry hadn't been expecting for many more years. A letter which he had mostly forgotten he was waiting for. Of course, he wouldn't know until he opened it. Reaching for a silver letter opener he kept in the drawer of a side gingerly pulled out the single card resting inside, and was even more confused than when he had first seen the envelope.

"Please join us for the wedding of Sophie Sheridan and Sky Rymand," he read aloud. Huffing, Harry leaned back in his chair and looked forward, at no object in particular.

"Who the bloody hell is _Sophie_?"

The date for the wedding was more than a month away, giving him ample time to plan if he did want to go, but he couldn't think of a reason. There couldn't be many Sheridans in Greece, but why would he be invited to a wedding for people he had never met? Maybe it was Donna's alter ego, or maybe it was a sister or a cousin. He considered Harry didn't particularly enjoy weddings even when he did know the people. He'd gone to the wedding of an old mate from university a few years ago, Jack Leigh, but had been miserable the whole time.

There were hundreds of guests, so he barely saw Jack, and he's not sure he even met the bride at the event. His other friends from university were cordial enough, but were swept away by a bunch of socialites Jack had invited. Harry probably left within the hour, having talked to nobody except those he already knew.

Anyhow, Jack and his wife - Tammy? Tara? - had divorced only a few months later, making the entire effort a waste of Harry's time. Now that he thought about it, Harry knew that first wedding had probably been at least a decade earlier, because Jack had cycled through a few wives after what's-her-name. Because whenever he got a wedding invitation from Jack, an average of one every three years, he politely declined and sent along a very kind card and a bottle of wine for the happy couple.

"Never mind, that, Kipper, what do you think the card means?"

Kipper did not respond, but Harry turned over the white and gold card to see if anything was written on the back. A small, carefully written note started out with his name.

 _Harry,_

 _It's been too long! My daughter, Sophie, is getting married, and I hope you can make it out to Kalokairi for the celebration. I own a hotel on the island now, so I can set aside a room for you as soon as I get your RSVP._

 _See you then!_

 _Donna_

Harry reread the note three or four times, took a sip of his tea, then tried to decipher what the message could possibly mean. First of all, Donna apparently had a daughter. Maybe it had been more than twenty years since he had last seen her, unless she got married shortly after they split up.

 _I'd like to meet the man who convinced Donna Sheridan to settle down,_ he thought, trying to remember if Donna had ever mentioned even the slightest interest in marrying and running a hotel of all things.

Secondly, Donna was offering him a hotel room, possibly a free one. The matter of payment wasn't clear, but he supposed that could be settled once he arrived.

 _I'm not actually considering the offer, am I? I don't like weddings, and I won't know anybody there!_

The rest of the afternoon was not a typical Saturday for Harry. The new episode of "The Midsomer Murders" went unwatched, and Harry failed to spend an hour imagining himself as Tom Barnaby's new partner. The back garden went unmanicured, with the weeds left to survive another day. Harry's laundry went undone, and his sheets were left unreplaced. Dinner, rather than a prepared pasta dish, became a delivery from the nearest Chinese restaurant. His tea, rather than being replenished as day turned into night, became several glasses of neat whiskey.

He tried, and failed, to decipher exactly what Donna could mean by sending this invitation. Bringing him more despair, Harry was forced to comb through the previous twenty years of his life. Had he failed to live up to those hopes from his youth? Was he already relegated to the nursing home portion of his life? Was he actually comfortable in his routine or just a coward, too afraid to try anything new?

Donna had a daughter, and owned a hotel. Even if she never stepped foot off Kalokairi after seeing him off at the dock, Donna apparently lived a relatively happy and somewhat adventurous life.

 _Maybe she's having a midlife crisis_ , Harry thought. _I need to stop overanalyzing my life, and just treat this as Donna's cry for help._

Donna's daughter was getting married. Harry didn't have any children. (He sometimes imagined he would make a great father. Not a great disciplinarian, as Lucy and Kipper proved daily, but a great father). However, children growing up and moving away must be difficult. Perhaps Donna was reaching out because she remembered their conversation as a pact to write a letter once one was trapped in a "nursing home." Not a literal nursing home, but a place in life where one felt trapped, only growing older but not happier.

Harry refused to consider the notion further. Donna probably had a husband or a dozen friends whom she would go to before a boy she had briefly dated decades earlier. He also didn't like the idea that Donna had changed that dramatically in personality since she bid him adieu on the dock. But if it wasn't a midlife crisis on Donna's part, why was Harry invited?

"They must be short on guests, and Donna is inviting everyone she knows," Harry mused aloud, as he dug into his second serving of crab rangoon.

This, too, made no sense to Harry. Donna would have had to search for his address, since they weren't in contact. It would be easier to invite random strangers off the street in Greece than track down Harry Bright. And if Donna remembered anything about him, she would recall how awkward he had been in his mid-20s. Did she think time had made him into a social butterfly?

If it wasn't _nice_ for Donna, and wasn't _nice_ for the wedding party, Harry's attendance could only serve one purpose. Maybe Donna thought it would be nice for _Harry_ if he attended the wedding.

Even half a world away, maybe Donna knew that Harry could already be in a sort of nursing home - stuck in routine and not truly living any moment to its full potential. If Donna were in love with him or wanted him to come and comfort her, she would have said it. Instead, she said, " _It's been too long_ ," somehow knowing that Harry hadn't embraced life all these years later. The alcohol fused into his bloodstream only encouraged this self-pity.

"She wants me to take a chance. Not on her, but on life."

It was late at night now, and Harry knew he was going to be quite hungover in the morning. His ramblings about the possible implications of taking a vacation next month were gibberish, and Lucy and Kipper had nodded off to sleep, but one thing was clear - his signed and sealed RSVP to Sophie and Sky's wedding.

On Sunday, Harry caught up with all the tasks he had neglected, not pausing to think about it. On Monday, however, the sealed RSVP glared at him from the coffee table.

"I suppose I need a spontaneous holiday."

Harry wasn't sure whether that holiday was for Donna, himself, or a bunch of strangers he had yet to meet. But he wasn't about to waste the postage on the RSVP. Harry was going to Kalokairi.


End file.
